I Learned To Love Again
by GodGudKami
Summary: Lawrence Gordon, a member of the New York police force, had thought that he’d put all feelings of love and compassion behind him long ago. Adam Faulkner, a criminal, thought the same. But they were both wrong. Adam/Lawrence, AU SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there! Well... Hmmm. I really wanted to write an AU fanfic about Adam and Lawrence, and it took me ages to find an appropriate setting. Finally, though, I decided on Lawrence being a cop and Adam being a criminal. I don't know why, but I always liked to picture Lawrence as the dominant person in the relationship, so... Here we are. Hehe. I'll post updates on this fic as regularly as I can. I really am interested in finishing it. I like to think that this fic will have an interesting plot, which I've somewhat worked out, as well as full-out make-out sessiofns, since they're just as important!**

**1. A New Day Has Begun**

A door was banged open in a police station in New York.

It was the beginning of October, and was thus Autumn and somewhat cool. And the door to an office in a New York police station was banged open.

The man behind the door, Lawrence Gordon - a tall, attractive man in his mid to late thirties with blond hair and a clean-shaven face - startled when his colleague walked into his office. It seemed like he'd never work at this place long enough to get used to the fact that the policemen who worked with him never knocked before they went through a door. Even if the door in question belonged to someone whom they _had_ to show respect to if they wanted to get anywhere in their work.

The man who had banged the door open, Jack Riley, grinned widely, closing the door behind him and holding up a folder in one hand so that Lawrence could see it.

"This, my friend, will make you happy," he said smugly, walking up to his superior's desk.

Lawrence sighed, dropped the pen he'd been holding in his hand, and looked at his coworker.

Jack was the closest thing he had to a friend, and he'd known him since he was eighteen, but he'd still never admit that Lawrence had actually made it further in their carrier than him. That was why he still tried to give him all these useless little cases. He was no where near as high-ranking as his companion, even though they'd both graduated from Police Academy at the same time. The man had darkish black hair and was somewhat immature-looking for his age, and like his friend, he seemed to regard facial hair as trivial and unappealing.

"What is it?"

"You know Faulkner?" Jack said, and in an instant all of his attempts to seem professional melted away, and his eyes shone like that of a child's on Christmas Eve when he dropped the folder on the older man's desk.

"Adam Faulkner?" Lawrence said with a small smile. "Of course I do. Why?"

"We've figured out where he is!" Jack said, pointing to the folder for Lawrence to see. "Or no, not really "figured out," but we have a pretty reliable clue about where he is right now!"

Lawrence chuckled and closed the folder.

"We've had a clue about where he is for the last six months. Why are you getting so giddy over this now?"

"Because _now,"_ Jack said, almost whispering, like if he said it too loud, the entire American police core would storm through the door and snatch the folder away from him, _"we've_ gotten the case! Grey says everyone has tried every place Faulkner's been seen in, and now, there's only one left! And _we_ get to check that out!"

Adam Faulkner was one of the many burglars in Lawrence and Jack's district. What made Jack so excited, Lawrence had to guess, was that the criminal probably _was_ unique in the way that no one had caught him in six months, not to mention that he was the most efficient one. Lawrence had never heard of anyone doing so many burglaries in such a short time, despite all his years as a cop. And he should have been ecstatic that he finally had a chance to catch him, but to be honest, nothing seemed more unattractive to him right now.

But he did have to smile a little at Jack's joy over this. Lawrence had seen the desk boy right before he'd graduated from Police Academy, the minute before his wedding, and the first time he'd gotten promoted, but none of those occasions compared to his level of excitement now.

Now, Jack was hopping from one foot to the other, shoving his hands into his pockets then pulling them back out to rake them through his hair and then move them up to bite his nails. He almost seemed insulted that Lawrence wasn't acting in the same way.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and stopped his fidgeting for a brief moment. "Aren't you happy? If we get this guy, you'll probably get another fancy medal. And I might get promoted again and get... an _office_!"

Lawrence laughed.

Jack really was his constant confirmation that he really had succeeded. They'd been cops for the exact same amount of time, and Lawrence still had a big office with a desk made out of expensive oak, a little cabinet filled to the brim with medals, and a bigger paycheck than most of his coworkers could even dream of. And Jack still had a puny little office, which looked more like a storage room than a place to work, and was usually out in the waiting room of the station, spinning a pen between his fingers, always prepared for Lawrence to come out of his office with his jacket in one hand, nod to him to follow him, and then bring him out on another case. Even though their boss, Vincent Grey, had explicitly forbidden Lawrence to bring Jack to anything that was "over his capacity."

Jack looked up when he heard his friend laugh. On his face was an almost childish look of disappointment, and Lawrence had to clear his throat and quiet down.

"Sorry," he said with a small smile. "Of course you'll get an office."

Jack's puppy face cracked in a big smile, and he bent down to open the folder again. It was almost amusing how much he wanted Lawrence's approval.

"He's in that alley," Jack said, pointing to the address in the report. "Behind Macy's. At least, that's where we _think_ he is."

Lawrence nodded and smiled tiredly at his colleague.

"Okay. I guess I'll be the one to go there and catch him. And you can sit by your desk when I hand him over, so that it'll look like you've done some work, too?"

Jack's smile turned into a smirk, with a faint shadow of shame behind it.

"You read my mind. And when - _if_ - you get back with Faulkner, you're gonna have to hold yourself down for an hour or so if you want to break him. Anderson is dealing with a rape right now. It could take a while."

Lawrence nodded.

"But you'll book the interrogation room for me?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

Lawrence got up and walked towards the door. He snatched his jacket from a drawer on the way out.

He had no clue at all that he was leaving his old life in the room behind him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lawrence drove through the crowded streets of the city that he'd come to know so well. A rational person in his position would have brought backup, or at least would have been a bit nervous. But Lawrence was beyond all that. For some reason, though he secretly didn't know how, the detective had become a professional; he was prompt, formal, and, above all else, ruthless. He also had a certain disdain for all criminals that helped him immensely when confronting them.

A lot of the people he'd arrested had actually crumpled the moment they'd seen him, gun in hand and face expressionless, because they'd known him so well by reputation. And even though Adam was supposed to be a professional, Lawrence doubted that he'd cause him any trouble. He'd seen pictures of him. Not very _good_ pictures, since the guy never usually stayed in one place for too long and thus getting a good shot of him could be difficult, but he'd seen enough to be confident that he'd know him by sight once he'd found him.

Lawrence was careful to park his car at least three blocks away from Macy's, which was a "legal" secondhand store that some of the lower-ranking members of his occupation had investigated several times. As he walked through the crowded, afternoon streets of New York, inconspicuous because of his semi-normal-looking uniform, further covered by his jacket, Lawrence found his heart beginning to beat faster, as it always did in situations such as these. Somehow, the idea of locking someone up got his blood pumping, and more so than his wife did, too.

It wasn't like fear turned him on or anything. He just _enjoyed_ taking away such people's freedom. That was what someone in his position was meant to feel, wasn't it?

When he finally reached Macy's street, Lawrence began to move more carefully - not too fast, but not too suspiciously, either. When he was a few inches away from the store itself, he again changed tactics, easily climbing the fence that shut the back of the place off from the rest of the world, then carefully made his way down it, taking out his handgun from its holster hidden under his jacket as he did so.

Slowly, tentatively, his weapon held out in front of him, Lawrence began to make his way down the narrow alleyway. Even though he'd never been there before, the detective knew that the place branched off into a rough, uncompleted square-like-shape. That was, an "L" with a right side. He was on that side now, since that was where the fence he'd taken had begun from, and he knew that the left side of the "L" had a small gate which led out into another alley, and eventually out into the streets again. In short, it was a mildly confusing maze, not overly confounding, but more than a little annoying.

When Lawrence had reached the end of his path and come to a corner that would lead him into the middle of the "L," he stopped. If Adam was anywhere, he would most-likely be there, since that would be the most shut off area available. Carefully, the man eased a fraction of his head around the corner, attempting to get a glimpse of what awaited him.

And, sure enough, there he was. Adam Faulkner.

There was no mistaking him. Even though he had his back to the detective, luckily, his skinny and "fragile" posture was unmistakable. He was leaning slightly against the brick wall of the store, seemingly scraping something away with his fingers. Whether he was attempting to clean his hideout a little or carve a picture because he was bored, the older man didn't know nor care. He didn't wait any longer.

Silently bracing himself, Lawrence jumped out from behind his corner, fingers poised on the trigger of his handgun. He saw the perpetrator startle as he at last realized that someone else was there. He turned, quickly and abruptly, without any caution at all, which made Lawrence wonder at his apparent skill. Adam's mouth opened slightly in surprise, and his already-pale-face grew even paler when he saw what was pointed at him. Clearly, he had not been expecting this.

Grimly, Lawrence tightened his grip on his weapon, noticing with anxiety the gun on the criminal's own waist. Adam had not moved at all since turning around, but the detective was still uncertain. He'd been told about this guy's rashness and impulsiveness before, and knew that if he himself was not prepared, he could easily lose the upper hand he'd gained.

Edging forwards slightly, gun aimed directly at the other man's chest, Lawrence said:

"Get your hands up where I can see them, _now_."

For a moment, it looked like the man was going to refuse. His eyes were defiant, and there was fight in them. But, luckily, it didn't take long for his commonsense to overcome his pride. Slowly, with every sign that Lawrence was his least-favorite person in the world, the young delinquent raised his hands to the level of his shoulders, glaring back at his captor as he did so.

Under normal circumstances, Lawrence would have called for backup and waited for it to arrive before he attempted anything else, but something about Adam... _enraged_ him. Somehow, _he_ wanted to be the one to catch him. Him alone. So, even though he knew it was dangerous, even though he knew that, if he wanted to, the younger man could probably attempt to disarm him, Lawrence moved a few more steps forward and said:

"Good. Now, turn around and get down on your knees, slowly. Any sudden movements and you're dead, got it?"

Lawrence thought that last part might have been overdoing it a bit, but he couldn't allow his enemy to see him scared or uncertain, not that he was. Adam made no reply, except for a scowl that would have killed the older man a million times over if looks had been deadly, but he complied with Lawrence's command, slowly turning so that his back was to him, then kneeling down on the hard ground of the alley pavement. He carefully moved his hands from his shoulders to the back of his head, without having to be told.

Lawrence felt his stomach lurch slightly in apprehension as he slowly began moving forward once again. He moved his gun to a one-handed grip and with his free hand, reached into his jacket and pulled out the pair of handcuffs he had there. Very carefully, he knelt on one knee behind the young man, trying to be as quiet as possible, then swiftly caught his left hand in one of the loops of the cuffs, and, in a lightning-quick movement, dropped his gun and pulled both Adam's hands down behind his back, cuffing the other as he did so.

Lawrence could tell by the delinquent's startled convulse straight after that he _had_ been planning on trying to outsmart him, but that he had been too slow and inexperienced to judge his movements. This made the detective smirk, and increased his arrogance, which had already been quite high, a great deal.

Effortlessly, he pushed Adam onto his stomach, knowing he was no real threat to him now, and began patting him down for weapons. He removed the gun attached to his waist, as well as a sharp knife, hidden up his left sleeve, and a wallet that had been in his jacket, which at a quick glance seemed to hold nothing but money.

Grinning, he pushed the criminal over onto his back so that he could look directly into his face. Adam glared back up at him, his face flushing slightly in embarrassment.

"Not quite quick enough, right Faulkner?" Lawrence said, unable to keep the mocking tone out of his voice. He saw a scowl appear on the young criminal's face, which only made him smile more.

"Fuck you, _officer_," Adam snapped back, putting as much detest as he could manage into the last word. Lawrence was not offended.

"Come on, now," he said in a sarcastic tone. "It's not going to be pleasant for either of us if we can't be civil to one another, is it?"

"Fuck civil. Fuck _you_. Like I'd waste my time being nice to _you_."

Lawrence smiled and moved so that he was leaning right over the other man. He stared into his face, seeing the anger and resentment there. But, he saw a childish look of defeat and embarrassment in the face, as well, which, Lawrence had to admit, was somewhat... cute. Very cute, actually.

"Besides, you started it," Adam continued, his voice stubborn and his eyes set as he stared back up at his captor, presumably unfazed by his closeness. "You were the one who came out here, caught me off guard... I don't do that kind of thing."

Now that Lawrence looked closer, he realized that Adam was quite a bit older than he'd first thought. The ruffled hair and childish demeanor was somewhat deceiving. At a guess, the detective would have placed the man at about twenty two-twenty three. _Seventeen_ years younger than him.

"Also, I think you guys must be pretty bored if you're going after someone like me. Or do they just send the rookies like you out to take care of petty criminals?"

His voice was nice, too. It had a sort of... rough, bitter note to it. His American accent was strong, and slightly fast and quick-paced, like its user didn't think much before speaking. His face and body were next to perfect; his body was either the right size or a fraction too skinny, and though he wasn't lanky or weak-looking, he looked somewhat vulnerable and easy-to-control. His face was perfectly fractioned, with a half-sarcastic, half-annoyed kind of air about it. His messy, brownish-black hair was rough and un-brushed, but it suited him. It... _really_ suited him.

"I hope you don't think you're good at your job, just because you caught me. As I said, I'm just a petty criminal; there are far bigger things you guys could be-"

The younger man's defiant rabble was cut abruptly short as his captor roughly pushed his mouth over his, throwing himself completely on top of him and shoving his tongue deep into his mouth. Adam struggled feebly, his options fatally limited without the use of his hands, along with the body of another man weighing him down.

Lawrence continued kissing him, long and hard, running his hands along his prisoner's jacket and shirt as he did so. Finally, after well-over a minute, he pulled away, breathing hard. The other man's breathing was not much better, and he was staring at Lawrence as though he'd just appeared out of the Twilight Zone or something.

"Y-You... What the fuck..." he spluttered, struggling somewhat to escape but getting nowhere.

"Shut up," Lawrence mumbled.

He wanted him.

He didn't know how he wanted him, or why in God's name he wanted him, but he did.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt the very strong urge to feel someone, feel someone naked and writhing beneath him, and it wasn't his wife - the wife that he'd been married to for over ten years - that he wanted. It was a _man_, a fucking convicted criminal, but...

He snapped out of his musings, looking at Adam beneath him. He was frowning, his face was flushed, and he was doing his best to hide his ragged, heavy breathing, but by God, he was attractive.

Adam smirked when he saw Lawrence's gaze, embarrassingly jumping from his eyes to his lips.

"Well, well, well," he chuckled, making another attempt to struggle against the handcuffs. "I guess I'm dealing with one of those cops who doesn't fuck his secretary, like the rest of the department, but sneaks off into dark alleys like these and forces eighteen year-old male whores to suck his cock. This could get crazy..."

"Shut up," Lawrence repeated firmly. "I could blow your fucking head off right now, without even breaking a law, so I suggest you do what I tell you to do."

"Oh, no," Adam said, with sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Stop it, you're scaring me."

"I'd better," Lawrence muttered, and kissed him again, aggressively, his tongue roaming the other's mouth, and it didn't make sense, not one bit, but he didn't care.

"For fuck's sake..." Adam hissed into the kiss and started struggling again. If it was against him or the handcuffs, Lawrence didn't know, and it was still just another thing he didn't give a crap about. He was getting more and more turned on by the second, and the fact that the younger man's lean, slender body was tensing and writhing beneath him, trying to break free, was just adding to it.

Lawrence's one hand snuck into Adam's jacket, feeling the thin fabric of his shirt, and suddenly felt a longing to feel his soft skin against his fingertips... Jesus Christ, what was wrong with him?

With some kind of sick satisfaction, Lawrence heard the younger man give a low moan, though it was mostly muffled by his own mouth. Encouraged, Lawrence continued feeling Adam's skin through the thin fabric of the t-shirt. His victim was still struggling in an attempt to free himself, but his resistance had lessened slightly.

Hungrily, Lawrence bit down on the delinquent's lower lip, silently but aggressively coaxing him to kiss him back. He wouldn't. Frustrated, Lawrence pulled away for a second time, glaring down at the other man, who glared defiantly right back up at him.

"You're not making this easy, Faulkner," Lawrence said quietly, gently rubbing his fingers against the outside of Adam's shirt. He saw the criminal's face strain and felt his body convulse slightly as the other man's hand brushed against his right nipple.

Lawrence began lowering his free hand slowly down his companion's stomach and, at the same time, slid his occupied hand down and under Adam's shirt, touching his skin directly. The young man trembled again from the direct contact, and with a mixture of pleasure and triumph, Lawrence felt a hard lump beginning to press against his legs, signifying that he'd finally succeeded in arousing his prisoner as much as he had done him.

Smirking, the detective moved his left hand up Adam's stomach and once again began massaging his nipple, directly this time. The delinquent's erection grew larger and Lawrence, encouraged and feeling in control, moved his head down beside Adam's again and began to nibble playfully at his neck.

He wanted to get another moan out of him; he wanted to hear the bastard crying with pleasure and begging him for release. He wanted to make the dirty thief suffer, to teach him a lesson for being such a slut. But most of all, he wanted to cure this maddening lust that had built itself up in him so suddenly and was now threatening to take control of his entire body until he went insane.

But for that to happen, Lawrence knew, he would have to continue with what he was doing, even though it was wrong, and even though the other man stood for everything he despised.

With disgust, Lawrence heard his own voice, muffled against Adam's neck, murmuring in a tone hoarse with desire and arousal:

"Just do as I say, Faulkner, and it'll be a whole lot less painful, okay?"

He almost moaned aloud with pleasure when he heard the young man give a low whimper of fear, as he finally realized that the situation he was in was no laughing matter. God, his fear turned him on so much. Grunting, the older man pushed his right hand down his lover's pants, gripping hard on the pulsing erection he found there.

Adam gasped and arched his back slightly as warm fingers closed around his throbbing length. With his other hand, the detective was still fingering the already-hardened nipples of the other man, and the next moment, he had pushed his mouth over Adam's again and was practically sucking his tongue out of his mouth, and this time, the criminal was kissing him back, just as passionately.

After a few satisfying seconds, Lawrence broke the kiss and pulled away, smiling at the frustration he saw in the delinquent's eyes.

"Surrender?" he mumbled with a grin as he felt Adam's trembling body push itself against his hand.

"Fuck you," Adam replied, and he probably wanted it to come out as another angry hiss, but instead, it sounded like an anguished cry from his own mental battle between his pride and his lust.

"That's not how nice boys talk," Lawrence murmured, and moved his lips from Adam's mouth to his earlobe, letting his breath brush over the sensitive skin there. "Nice boys say "please.""

"Fuck you," Adam repeated, biting his lip, but he still couldn't suppress a tortured moan. "God..."

Lawrence closed his mouth over his again, letting his one hand put some more pressure on Adam's growing erection, still disgusted with himself for being so turned on by this, for making out with a criminal, but it was all worth it. He hadn't been able to make his wife moan like this for years, and it had been years since he'd tried.

He tried to pretend that his own rapidly-growing erection didn't exist, but that got harder to do by the second. Even though Adam couldn't touch him, everything about him seemed to turn him on even more. His body, his writhing, his moans, his sounds, the soft throbbing of his cock under his tormenter's hand. His... helplessness.

_God, I'm a control freak,_ Lawrence thought, as he felt Adam's quivering breath against his lips.

But it was easier that he didn't think about it. Lawrence tried to stay jaded and insensitive as he gave Adam's penis a slow, teasing stroke, still playing with his erected nipple as he did so, drinking in the man's moans and pressing his wetted lips against his neck. Even though he knew he should stop... Hell, it wasn't like he didn't feel how desperate and lustful his kisses were becoming, but he couldn't do that. He _could_ hold back, though. This was all about teaching Adam a lesson, after all.

But he still couldn't keep the blood from roaring in his ears as he heard the criminal grunt when he gave him another stroke.

"Jesus Christ..." Adam said, his voice rough as he shook his shoulders, as though he were attempting to slip his hands out of the cuffs.

"You're starting to give in, aren't you?" Lawrence said smugly, and smiled into the soft, naked skin of the delinquent's neck.

Adam chuckled, softly and grimly.

"I am," he muttered, and even though Lawrence was filled with a sadistic satisfaction at these words, it was soon washed away by what he said next, with a cruel, mocking note in his voice.

"But I don't seem to be the only one."

**What a place to end a chapter... But it was getting a little long. Anyway, it'd be nice if all you lovely ChainShippers could read and review this fic and let me know what you think - areas that need work, suggestions, etc.. All is welcome. Thanks a lot!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey there, I'm back with a second chapter! I know I left Adam in a tricky spot before, but… What the hell. I'm sure he brought it down on himself somehow, and since Lawrence gives him the best kind of punishment possible, I suggest we just roll with it!**

**2. When You Need Me**

Frustrated by the truthfulness of these words, Lawrence contented himself by giving Adam's neck a semi-aggressive nip. He felt the younger man tense up at this immediately, probably more from shock than anything else.

Lawrence could feel his mind beginning to go irrational with the building up lust thatf he was struggling to suppress. Without really meaning to, he squeezed both parts of his prisoner's body with which his hands were currently occupied. The gestures were not very strong, but the places he'd struck were obviously the most sensitive, not just for Adam, but for any man.

"Fucking hell..." Lawrence heard his companion moan amid the roaring of his ears. The detective found himself disliking the tone. It was still too casual... Or, at the very least, not as scared as it should have been.

Tearing his mouth away from Adam's neck and positioning himself so that he was staring directly into the other man's face, Lawrence said, in a voice that made himself shudder:

"Listen to me, Faulkner... We're going to do things in a civil and professional manner. I don't know about you, but when _I_ was younger..." Here he gave Adam's penis another long, teasing stroke, forcing a low moan from the kid's reluctant mouth. "...My parents taught me to say "please" when I wanted something. So..."

Once again, Lawrence pressed his mouth against Adam's, kissing him with a lot more force and desire than he'd intended. He moved his left hand, still inside the other man's shirt, down and over to the side, half-embracing the criminal. With his other hand, he was still giving very occasional and unsatisfying strokes to Adam's throbbing cock. The younger man had begun to struggle again, only this time, it was because he wanted Lawrence even more, and not because he wanted to get away from him.

Seemingly ignoring the prisoner's struggles, Lawrence continued to kiss his companion, again pushing his tongue as far as he could into the other's mouth. Despite his obvious suffering from the growing erection that his tormenter was refusing to relieve, Adam kissed back, just as passionately and desperately.

Eventually, Lawrence pulled away, though this hurt him just as much as it did the delinquent, who struggled hopelessly to reach him again. Smirking, the older man gave Adam's penis a gentle, one-fingered caress, and the receiver was now so turned on that this silenced him immediately. He lay back against the ground, breathing hard. Lawrence smiled mockingly, trying to ignore his own throbbing erection.

"Okay, Faulkner," he said, his breathing just as hard as the other man's. He dug the fingernails of his left hand into Adam's side, and was satisfied when he heard a low grunt of pain in return. Lawrence moved forward slightly, so that he was just out of the other man's reach. He breathed softly into his face, and knew that his scent was driving the young criminal practically insane with lust.

"I'm going to teach you how to behave," Lawrence said quietly, his voice low and serious. "That means that if you want something from me, you ask nicely. You say "please." If you're not polite to me, I might become frustrated with you and be forced to act impolitely myself."

Adam glared back up at him, his eyes flashing angrily. He was still going crazy with desire, Lawrence knew, but at the same time he was obviously growing angry by the other man's behavior.

"Fuck you," Adam practically spat back at him, moving his cuffed and pinned arms slightly in a fruitless attempt to break free.

Grimly, Lawrence moved his head down and, without bothering to think about what he was doing, bit Adam, hard, on the side of the neck. At the same time, he dug his fingernails aggressively into the man's side and pulsing cock. The criminal gave an agonized cry and instinctively convulsed. Releasing his grip on his prisoner's erection slightly and moving himself back up so that he was once again staring down into the younger man's face, Lawrence said:

"That's not very "polite," Faulkner." He moved his hand back down to give Adam's penis a gentle, reassuring stroke. "Be more polite, okay? Speak to me with a bit of respect, to begin with."

"You're crazy," Adam hissed, his pale face a scarlet red now. "Fucking insane. Now, get these fucking handcuffs _off_ me!"

"Now you're cursing," Lawrence answered in an angry voice, digging his nails into Adam's waist. He felt with satisfaction a few warm drops of blood trickle down his fingers. Adam's jaw was clenched, but he didn't make a sound. He'd already shown way too much vulnerability at this point. "We were supposed to be civil, remember?"

"Right, and you're doing so _fucking_ much better," Adam growled, and seemed to use every ounce of power he had to breathe normally -- not too hard, not too quivering -- but he only half-succeeded. "You're a cop who acts out all your sick, sexy fantasies on a criminal in a fucking alley! _Civil_, officer, that's very civil."

Once again, he'd touched on a very sore spot. Mostly to shut him up, Lawrence pressed his face down on Adam's, filled his mouth with his tongue, claimed his lips as his own.

He was sick of this. His hands were now once again occupied on Adam's chest and cock, but still restless. But the part of him that was the most frustrated was his own pulsing erection, an endless pleasure and an endless torture, almost painful as it was trapped under the pants of his uniform, and he knew he'd give up soon. It wouldn't take long, and then Adam would win... This little boy, this little _slut,_ would win, and that couldn't happen. Not a chance.

Lawrence glanced behind him in the direction he'd come, where the lives of normal people took place, just a few feet away, outside of the cramped, filthy alley where his and Adam's insane foreplay was being acted out. Anyone could catch him doing this. He had already gone as far down on the social scale as possible. He was at the bottom of the barrel, so he might as well live the whole thing out at its best.

He brought his hands out of Adam's shirt and opened his jacket up with a violent motion, then tried to pull his shirt over his head until he realized that the handcuffs would make that impossible, so he pulled it up as high up as he could, and by that, exposed as much of Adam's chest that was currently possible.

"What're you doing?" Adam asked, his voice rough. "What the hell..."

But then he silenced abruptly as Lawrence bowed his head and started to kiss his chest, as lightly as possible, even though his entire soul screamed for him to do it hard, with lips and tongue, _bite_ the erected nipples, roll Adam over onto his stomach, pulls his tattered shorts down...

_No. Not yet._

He would make him suffer.

Lawrence felt the younger man's body tense up even more, felt how his length trembled in his eager fingers. He loved this, he loved making this little bastard suffer. He was obviously very young and juvenile, and at such an age, sex was probably just about all he thought about. Unfortunately, the detective's own desire was beginning to grow, as well, and it annoyed him that he had to hold it back for his plan to properly work. No, it didn't just annoy him. It _enraged_ him.

Running his tongue slowly and lightly across Adam's chest, moving gradually to his hardened-beyond-recognition nipples, Lawrence once again moved his left hand to the young delinquent's waist and embraced him as best he could, pressing himself against him as though he were trying to get inside him. He could feel the fabric of Adam's shirt, which he'd failed to move above the wearer's neck, brushing against his head. He could feel his companion's hard breathing, hear his suppressed grunts, and taste his warm skin as he kissed his trembling body.

Lawrence had no idea how long this went on for. It could have been a minute, it could have been an hour. He was so absorbed in what he was doing -- making the little slut suffer -- that time didn't seem to have much meaning.

Adam was still desperately trying to control his breathing, but was having little luck. His entire body was shuddering violently and his penis was pulsing and shaking in its tormenter's grip. The younger man had given up on insulting his companion, just as he'd given up on trying to escape. Why this was, Lawrence had no idea. Perhaps it was taking all of the man's concentration just to keep himself from going insane.

Without warning, the older man gave his victim's cock a long, hard stroke. Adam had not been expecting this. He gave a tortured, involuntary moan and arched his back. Lawrence felt a little cum leak into his hand and immediately stopped stroking. There was no way in hell he'd be giving it to the bastard this easily. He felt the criminal begin to struggle again, and this time, there was no anger there. Just a frantic kind of desperation and... lust.

"Please..." Adam's voice was so gravelly with longing that it was barely audible. Lawrence moaned into the younger man's chest just from the sound of it, and felt his own tortured cock beginning to scream for release, as well.

He gave his prisoner's penis another stroke, but this one was no where near as generous as the first one. In fact, if anything, it only made the receiver more desperate.

"For God's sake, guy... please..."

The delinquent sounded close to tears in his deprived condition. His struggles were becoming more and more desperate. If Lawrence had not been so mad with desire himself, he would never have been able to contain him. Feeling dizzy, and more than a little disgusted with himself, the detective slowly moved himself so that he was mouth-to-mouth with the hopeless man once more.

He allowed the younger man to take what he wanted from his lips, but only for a few seconds, before pulling away and out of his reach. Adam stared up at him hopelessly, his normally-pale face flushing bright red and his lips trembling. He'd stopped struggling again, and now he just looked defeated and compliant, finally realizing that he was completely at the mercy of the other man.

"_Please..."_ he repeated, his voice completely void of defiance. _"Please..._ I'm so... _close._ I can't stand it. If you don't do something soon, I'm going to go fucking crazy."

Smiling, Lawrence pulled the younger man closer to him, wrapping legs around the other's body in a half-straddle, and kissed him again, longer this time, pushing his tongue deep inside the delinquent's mouth. Both moaned hard and shamelessly into the kiss, and this time, pulling away almost killed the older man. Adam lay still when he did, making no attempt to stop him. He was trying to be obedient, Lawrence knew. He smiled again and ran one finger very slowly down Adam's throbbing erection, feeling his own penis grow considerably from the moan it drew out of the younger man's mouth.

"Don't curse, Faulkner," Lawrence said quietly, barely recognizing his own voice. Like Adam's, it was husky and gravelly from the situation. He stroked the criminal's length again, and Adam whimpered in a mixture of pleasure and agony. Pressing his mouth to the younger man's neck, Lawrence muttered:

"Say you're sorry."

Adam tensed again, though not from anger, surprisingly. Lawrence knew that this display of dominance was doing nothing at the moment but making the receiver even more lustful.

"I-I'm sorry," he shuddered, his words shaking almost as much as he was.

"Say you're a filthy little slut. Say you're a useless piece of shit and that you're lucky to have someone like me paying this much attention to you."

"I-I'm a worthless piece of sh-shit... I-I'm lucky that s-someone like you is even... t-touching me."

Lawrence smirked, and gently bit into Adam's neck, both feeling and hearing the effect this had on him.

"Say that you want me to fuck you. Say that you want me inside you."

His own voice was shaking now, and the detective knew that he would be unable to hold out for much longer. He felt Adam's neck pulse slightly as he swallowed several times in an attempt to calm himself.

"I-I... I..."

He was trying desperately to get the words out, but talking was practically beyond him at this point. Finally, after several incomprehensible stutterings and moanings, he managed:

"I-I want you t-to fuck me... I-I want to f-feel you i-inside me."

The words were pleading, as was the tone. Lawrence could tell that Adam wanted nothing less than what he'd just begged for. Still gripping his cock in his right hand and embracing him with his left, the older man slowly turned his victim around so that he was on his stomach and he was lying on top of him once more. He saw the delinquent's bound hands twitching uncontrollably from the pressure, and smirked. He moved so that his mouth was right up against Adam's naked shoulder, and gave him a gentle nip there, as if to reassure him.

Adam grunted out of either pain or pleasure, which one wasn't clear, and it wasn't very important, either. Lawrence pulled his hand out of his lover's pants and fought, with fingers that were stiff with arousal, to get the button of his shorts up. It wasn't very hard. His body seemed to know what to do better than he did now, and that was just as good. This would've been so much harder otherwise.

The effort it caused Lawrence to get Adam's pants and boxers halfway down his thighs would usually have made him lose interest in what was about to come, made the warmth disappear, but that wasn't the case now. It was quite the opposite; the lust almost seemed to grow as he unzipped the pants on his own uniform, looked down on Adam for a brief second before he finally forced himself into him.

Adam whimpered, unmistakably out of pain this time, and Lawrence bent over briefly and planted a kiss at the back of his neck, mostly to comfort him. For some reason, now, when he was so close to reach his oh-so-wanted climax -- he had been so close when he'd started, it was only a matter of seconds -- his sadistic desire of Adam seemed to be mixed with something else. Almost sympathy. Almost affection.

Lawrence did his best not to think. It really wasn't that hard, since the blinding lust that clouded his mind made his thinking more limited than ever, but he still tried. Because all the thoughts that reached him had the same subject: He was just as crazy as Adam said he was.

_Detective Gordon,_ he thought as he pulled out of Adam and thrust into him again. _You silly man. Don't you always admire yourself for being so rational? For always thinking things through? And what are you doing now? You're fucking the goddamn criminal that you came here to arrest._

It was insane, it really was, but none of the people involved seemed to care. Not Adam, certainly. He moaned and squirmed on the ground, but he definitely didn't care.

For some reason, feeling the younger man's body writhing and thrashing below him only made the detective want him even more. _Sick,_ he couldn't help thinking. _Absolutely sick._

He moved one of his hands -- he was far too high at this point to know which -- roughly down Adam's stomach and once again grasped his erected penis. The effect of this touch was little different than if he'd shot his prisoner with a tranquilizer gun, because the next moment, the young criminal was again lying still, though his body was still shuddering and twitching uncontrollably.

Lawrence continued to push himself into the delinquent, harder and rougher each time, moaning long and hard from the blissful feeling of relief and pleasure it was giving his aching erection. He was bucking Adam with most of his body now, using both his legs and his free arm to enter and exit him. The hand he had on the criminal's own pulsing length was moving more-or-less automatically. He wasn't thinking much about relieving _him_ anymore, or even about making him suffer. At the moment, the only thing that mattered to the detective was his _own_ release; the one that would be happening, he knew, within a few short seconds.

Adam grunted each time his captor entered him and inhaled and exhaled hurriedly each time he exited. The warm, sweaty hand, absentmindedly caressing his own growing erection, caused shameless moans and whimpers from the delinquent's mouth. He felt drunk. He felt like his head was full of cotton wool. He couldn't think. He couldn't _breath_. He felt like he was at the bottom of a deep swimming pool, like he was drowning in his own arousal.

He could feel Lawrence's cock inside him, feel it practically tearing his insides apart. It hurt, but at the same time, it was the best feeling Adam had ever experienced in his life. The feeling of having someone so close to him. The feeling of their length ramming into his tight... God, what the _hell_ was wrong with him? He was supposed to like _women,_ not men. Besides, this man was _raping_ him. A person who was supposed to enforce the law and prevent these kind of things was raping him. He would have been doing this, regardless if Adam had been enjoying it or not.

With one last agonized moan, Lawrence pulled hard out of Adam and, only half a second later, came hopelessly over his exposed backside. A few seconds later, a feeling of immense dampness and wetness filled the older man's hand, indicating that his companion had held out only seconds after him.

Exhausted, Lawrence collapsed completely against the younger man, not caring that he was pressing against his own cum, not paying any attention to the unpleasant feeling of cold metal against his chest, from the handcuffs he'd used to restrain his victim. The handcuffs he'd used to make him helpless, to _rape_ him...

He moved his hand, which he was now clearheaded enough to realize was his left, away from the criminal's cock and rested it limply on his shoulder, next to his other hand. Both men were breathing hard and fast, too dazed and shocked to talk.

**There we go! Another chapter down! I know Lawrence comes off as something of an asshole, but he'll get nicer later on, I promise. Either way, please review! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Grrr... Sorry about the long update-lack. I've been really busy with petty personal problems lately that I won't bore anyone with. Just enjoy the next chapter, and be sure to review!**

**3. A Shifting Upper Hand**

Lawrence's thoughts crept out from the corners of his brain, slfofwly and tenaciously, like melted gelatin. His muscles seemed to have turned into that, too, and his arms wouldn't move.

_Why did you come here?_ a tiny voice in his mind, the only part of the old him that still remained, echoed in his dazed head.

_To... arrest him._

Lawrence's gaze moved over to Adam, who was sitting on the ground and fidgeting with the edge of a brick on the alley floor with his bound hands.

_Arrest him._

Lawrence raked his hand through his damp hair -- the hand that wasn't soiled -- and felt, for the first time he could ever remember, a certain repulse at the idea of brining someone to the police station.

Adam wasn't... evil. Somehow, he knew that. Adam was a confused, poor, badly-raised kid who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The fact that he'd committed crimes was obvious, but... He wasn't a criminal... Was he?

_You're a cop. You've seen the register of your little sex slave. Seven burglaries in six months. Not even you, in your half-sedated condition, can say that's not illegal._

_You're a cop. You came here to arrest him, so arrest him._

Lawrence nodded. He was a cop, Adam was a criminal. The fact that they'd done this was sick and it was wrong, but it was still only a one time-thing. A sympathy-fuck.

So Lawrence stood up, dusting himself off as he did so. He'd already redressed, having done his best to wipe off the worst of the cum-stains which were, thankfully, mostly on the inside of his clothes. Adam looked at his companion as he stood, and his eyes grew wide and confused, not unlike a frightened child's, for a moment, before the harsh truth seemed to come to him, and he lowered his gaze with a bitter chuckle.

"Zip up," Lawrence muttered, running his hand through his hair again in an attempt to make it look reasonable.

"If you take these fucking handcuffs off me, I'll gladly do so," Adam responded coolly. Lawrence gave him a questioning look.

"What?" Adam asked mockingly, staring back. "You think I'm gonna run away now?"

Lawrence smirked back, feeling all of his sympathy and affection for the younger man leaving him in an instant.

"Why wouldn't you run, Faulkner?" he asked smoothly. "You've already shown me that you can't be trusted. Before, when I was arresting you, you moved, as though you were going to try and fight back. Do you really think I believe you when you say that you won't run the moment I "get those fucking handcuffs" off you?"

Adam's eyes flashed angrily, and Lawrence saw all of the lightheartedness and amusement drain out of his face, leaving him looking somewhat empty and distant.

"Well, then," he snapped back, his tone icy, "I don't know how you expect me to redress myself without the use of my hands. Unless you think I'm some kind of fucking magician or something."

Lawrence laughed bitterly and walked over to his companion, pulling him roughly to his feet. Without bothering to wipe away any of the white stains from Adam's clothes -- they were, like his, stained mostly on the inside, anyway -- Lawrence forcefully pulled up the younger man's boxers and shorts. Adam had already managed to shrug his shirt back down around his body, so he didn't have to bother with that.

Taking the delinquent firmly by the shoulder, Lawrence began to lead him back the way he'd come, out of that closed up piece of the world, where they'd committed unspeakable crimes of passion and impulse, and out into the open street.

There weren't many people about at this time of day. It was almost evening, and most people were at home, cooking or eating dinner with their families. The few people who were still out, mostly late-grocery shoppers, stared in mild interest as the two men passed. They probably didn't get to see this kind of thing very often, and Lawrence found himself wishing that he hadn't parked his car so far away.

Adam, for his part, kept his head down, staring at his shoes as they walked. Lawrence noticed that they were quite old, and that was strange, when he thought about it. This guy had been the craftiest house-burglar on this side of the city for months now... Surely, he would have wanted to spend his money on some decent shoes. _And_ clothes.

Eventually, they reached the police car. Lawrence opened the back passenger door and pushed Adam roughly inside. He did up his seatbelt for him, closed and locked the door, then walked around to the driver's seat and started the car. It whirred smoothly into action without failing, which was what Lawrence had always loved about the cars supplied to him in his work; no bullshit. He stared at his captive through the rear-view mirror and smiled mockingly, unable to keep the arrogant glint out of his eyes.

"Better enjoy the daylight while you can, Faulkner," he said harshly. "You'll be going away for a long time for all the shit you've done."

Adam's jaw clenched and he seemed about to say something, but then he seemed to think better of it. He turned away, looking out of the window and resting his head against his seatbelt, looking as though he were a bored, young kid on a long car trip.

Lawrence moved his eyes away from him, adjusted the rear-view mirror, and drove off, heading back to the police station. And he made a promise to himself that: Just as he alone had arrested Adam, he alone would interrogate him. He alone would be the one to bring the truth out of him -- why he'd robbed the houses, how he'd done it, and, most importantly, what he'd done with the money -- and he alone would be the one who got to see the little bastard break down and beg for mercy and forgiveness.

As comforting as this thought was, however, Lawrence still couldn't stop himself from giving a small shudder every once in a while as he drove. He tried to drive what he and Adam had done out of his mind. He tried to forget the pleasure he'd felt when he'd had his lips pressed hard against Adam's, had his cock buried deep inside him. But he couldn't. And he knew that for as long as he lived, whatever happened to him, the memory of what he and that man had done together in that dark alley, on that lonely Saturday afternoon, would stay with him until the day that he died.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lawrence found himself feeling relived as he felt his old self returning to him. He didn't like who he'd become the past hour. He didn't like the Lawrence that could feel, the Lawrence that could care, the Lawrence that could feel both affection and arousal. He didn't like the Lawrence that had woken him up from his zombionism, the Lawrence that was... _alive_. He opened his car door slowly, then stepped out, into the hot, evening sun.

But it was okay now. He didn't feel a thing anymore, and that was probably because Adam had been so quiet during the ride that the detective had had to keep looking into the rear-view mirror to make sure he was still in the car.

Lawrence felt the sadistic satisfaction in locking up another criminal. And when Adam was safe in his prison cell, he'd go back to not even feeling that, go home to his wife, let her have sex with him and still not feel anything. And she would never find out what he'd done. What _they'd_ done. He rounded the car and opened the door on Adam's side. The younger man startled, blinked in a newly-awakened way, and looked at him with foggy eyes. Had he been sleeping?

That actually seemed believable. When Adam saw him, he almost looked surprised, as if he were wondering what the hell he was doing in a police car, and more than anything, why he'd fallen asleep in it.

Lawrence almost felt annoyed. If he'd fallen asleep, Adam must've felt safe. And he wasn't supposed to feel safe, he was supposed to feel terrified, he was supposed to shake with fear, and he was definitely supposed to be awake for the whole ride. Because, when he looked at Adam, with his sleepy eyes and mouth struggling to suppress a yawn, he just looked so damn _cute_, and that made Lawrence want to reach out and draw a hand over his cheek, want to bend down and place a kiss on his lips that was soft and gentle, not violent and angry...

_No. Stop it._ Now he was feeling again, and it wasn't even horniness, it was tenderness. _Not good. Stop it._

"Get out," Lawrence said, trying to make his voice sound harsh and succeeding. He grabbed his prisoner by the arm and shook him slightly. "We're here."

Adam didn't answer. He still didn't seem to be fully aware of what was going on, so he just let Lawrence pull him out of the car and slam the door shut behind him.

The older man led the young delinquent up to the door of the police station and opened it. The mood inside was low and boiling at the same time. Just how Lawrence had left it. Ignoring all of the interested stares that he and Adam were attracting, he made his way over to one of the counters and showed his badge to the policeman behind it, who just happened to be Jack.

"I've got him," he said, and tried to sound as smug as he usually did in situations like these, even though he couldn't help but feeling a sting of guilt in his heart at the idea of locking Adam up.

Jack lifted his gaze from his superior's badge, then smiled disbelievingly.

"Oh, my God... You actually got him?" he asked, even though the answer could not have been more obvious.

"You doubted me?" Lawrence asked in pretend annoyance, forcing a smile. "He was just where you said he'd be. Didn't put up much of a fight. I was almost disappointed."

"Nice work," Jack said approvingly, and lifted his pen before his eyes shifted to Adam. His brows furrowed in dislike.

"Are you stoned, Faulkner?"

"Huh?" Adam said lazily, looking at him with still-dazed eyes, and for a brief second, Lawrence panicked.

He knew that Jack wanted Adam to be what he had said more than anything else in the world. If he was under the influence of drugs as he was arrested, Adam would probably get at least a year more in jail, and with his slow reactions and clouded eyes, the criminal really did send that message.

"No, it's not like that," he interrupted, a little too fast for it to sound natural, but luckily Jack didn't really seem to notice. "He fell asleep in the car."

"Aha," the inferior said in understanding, and his smile returned. "Then you just have to fill out some forms like usual, Lawrence. And you," he added, to Adam again, "can set yourself up for a damn long staying. This guy is merciless."

Adam's defensive side seemed to overcome his tired one, and he rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't scary when he said that himself," he said, and nodded in Lawrence's direction, "and it's not scary when you do it, either. Sorry."

Lawrence suppressed a grin with difficulty as Jack laughed.

"This one's pretty full of himself, isn't he?" the other man said with a smirk. Lawrence did his best to match his coworker's look of scorn and annoyance.

"Yeah," he said, gripping Adam's shoulder harder than necessary. "Really arrogant. I'm sure he'll change his tune once he's spent a few weeks with us, though." He felt the young criminal stiffen slightly in his grip, as though in fear. Maybe his emotions were finally catching up with him.

Lawrence quickly and expertly filled out the piece of paper Jack had handed him, still keeping his left hand firmly on his prisoner's arm. In less than a minute, he'd cleared it. He'd lost count on how many of these stupid things he'd had to sign. Every time he caught someone, he had to, so naturally, he'd been forced to sign many.

If it'd been anyone else, others probably would have insisted on accompanying Lawrence as he led Adam down the hall, towards the short-term custody cells. But even one of the most well-known criminals of the year, the older man could be trusted to handle alone.

He unlocked and opened one of the first doors they came to. It was a low-security room. The _lowest_, in fact, but Lawrence doubted Adam would be able to escape from it. He was so inexperienced and juvenile, after all.

_So cute..._

No! What was wrong with him? Adam was _not_ cute, and Lawrence did _not_ care about him. He was just some stupid little delinquent who had had a few lucky breaks. What they'd done together... That had been an accident. Nothing like that would ever happen again. Hell, even if he _was_ gay, which he _wasn't_, he could still find much better-looking guys than this... _kid_.

More roughly than he'd intended, Lawrence shoved Adam inside the room, stepping in after him and closing the door behind them. He pushed the young man against the wall and, as painfully as he could, undid the handcuffs still binding his wrists. He stepped back, towards the door, smirking inwardly as Adam weakly separated himself from the wall and sat down on the hard bed of the cell, attached to the wall, which was the only piece of furniture in the room besides a rundown toilet and basin.

Well, that and a surveillance camera that hung from the wall and slowly moved from left to right as it scanned the cell for any suspicious activities. Adam folded his now-free hands against his shoulders, rocking back and forth slightly as he attempted to wake himself up more.

_So cute..._

Then the young thief looked up at his captor, and forced a sarcastic smile. Lawrence smirked back.

"Better get some more sleep, Faulkner," he said, turning his back on the man and opening the cell door. "If you didn't get enough on the ride over here, that is."

As he stepped out into the hall again made to close the door, he heard the little shit's defiant reply.

"Fuck you, _officer_."

Lawrence turned around, only to face Adam's closed expression and his eyes, like tiny, steel blue pins that stood out from his face.

"Watch your witty tongue, Faulkner," he said, hooking his keys to his pants. "I'm in charge of the interrogation later, so if you say that too many times, I can charge you for offending a servicing officer."

"Of course you can," Adam muttered, addressing the wall. "You can charge me for anything, because you're such a big, scary cop. You're big, scary Lawrence Gordon."

Lawrence stiffened at these words, even though his pride didn't really allow him to show it.

_He hadn't told Adam his name..._

_...Had he?_

_Come on,_ the annoying voice in his head said. _You don't know what the hell you've been doing for the past hour. How would you know whether or not you've introduced yourself to this little fuck?_

"How do you know my name?" Lawrence asked. He wanted to sound angrier than he did. He sounded so disgustingly helpless. Adam chuckled. He had the upper hand, for the first time since they'd met, and it was easy to see that he was loving every second of it.

"Visiting hours are over, officer Lawrence Michael Gordon," he said merrily, folding his legs underneath him. "See you at the interrogation."

"Faulkner," Lawrence said in a warning tone. "How do you know my name?"

"Bye-bye," Adam said, waving and smirking at the same time.

Lawrence had no idea what he could do. He was completely perplexed, because actually, he didn't have the right to force Adam to say something until they were in the interrogation room, and that wasn't free for at least another hour, he knew that. Jack had informed him of that before he'd left the station.

"_When you get back with Faulkner, you're gonna have to hold yourself down for an hour or so if you want to break him. Anderson is dealing with a rape right now. It could take a while."_

Not _if_. But _when_. There wasn't an _if_ when it came to Lawrence Gordon breaking a twenty year-old burglar. Of course he'd get him, no question about it.

Lawrence left. He hated himself for it, but he left Adam, because he didn't know what else to do.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

But the time passed pretty quickly. He joined some other cops in the lounge, and he listened to them bragging over the rapists that they'd caught red-handed. So many rapes nowadays...

They tried to get him to talk, too, but he barely dared to say anything. Because he was so terrified that it would slip out: "I got Adam Faulkner, the guy we've been chasing for the past few months, but I didn't know he was so damn good-looking, so I fucked him in a filthy alley."

Oh, well. He managed to hold it all in. And quite a while later, he finally got the key to the interrogation room once Jack had given him another form to fill out, and on knees that he didn't want to shake so much, Lawrence went to get Adam.

**Ohhh... A hot, sexy interrogation is approaching! How hot! Well, please keep reviewing. If you click on the fic and like it, it'd be really nice if you reviewed. It doesn't take a minute, and it really encourages me. Even little ones. For those of you who already have reviewed, though, thanks a lot for your support! I'll have the next update posted as soon as I can. And it'll be smutty!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, so this is another fairly long update that I'm sorry for, but it seems like God doesn't want us ChainShippers to read or write smut. Fortunately, though, I don't give a damn!**

**4. Grasping For Straws**

"That was quick," Adam remarked, his tone amused.

He'd been sitting on the hard bed of his cell, his arms around his knees and his back against the wall, when Lawrence had come to get him. Despite it having taken over three hours for an interrogation room to become available, the young delinquent still looked very tired and weary. There was no real sting in his voice when he spoke. Not that there ever had been, but...

Upon the detective's arrival, Adam had looked up, though his eyes still had that oddly glazed look which made Lawrence wonder if he really was on drugs.

"Visiting hours have come, Faulkner," the older man said, a bitter smirk playing on his lips. Adam smiled back, though there was no humor in his expression. His face seemed somewhat blank.

Lawrence grabbed the kid by the arm and dragged him roughly to his feet, keeping a firm grip on his shoulder as he walked him out of the cell and down the hallway to the free interrogation room. He didn't bother to handcuff him. He knew that Adam wasn't stupid enough to try and escape a place where so many other armed individuals were residing.

Once they were inside the room, Lawrence locked the door behind them, using a frequency code rather than a key. Other than a hard-plastic table and two hard-plastic chairs that sat opposite to each other on either side of the table, the room was bare. There was no security camera, either, most-likely to stop the criminals from submitting evidence if they were harshly treated during questioning.

Lawrence pointed this out to the younger man as they both sat down on either side of the table, staring across at one another as though each thought the other was a very interesting TV program.

"Don't give me any shit, Faulkner," the detective said, his voice low and his eyes murderous. "There's no security camera in here, so there's nothing to stop me from losing my temper and becoming... rough with you."

"You mean how you were rough with me in that alley?" Adam asked bitterly, shifting his gaze from Lawrence to the door.

The provoked man smiled. He knew he'd been going to enjoy this. Swiftly, he reached across the table and grabbed his companion's hands with his own. Adam startled at the contact and looked back at him, his child-like eyes wide with suppressed fear.

"How did you know my name, Faulkner?" Lawrence murmured, running his fingers gently along the criminal's palms. Adam gave a soft grunt that could have been pleasure as the older man caressed his hands and looked up into his imprisoner's eyes. Maybe he wouldn't have answered the question if Lawrence hadn't made the contact, but refusing to talk didn't seem to be an option for him now. He swallowed a few times, as though preparing himself, and replied:

"I-It's nothing sinister. I just heard that other cop call you "Lawrence...""

The older man smiled. Did this guy actually think he could fool him so easily?

"But he only called me "Lawrence," Faulkner," he said conceitedly. "You called me "Lawrence Michael Gordon." Even knew my middle name. That's quite impressive, especially considering the only time my full name ever came up was in official documents." He gave Adam's hands a slight squeeze, which caused a low groan of pain to escape from the receiver's mouth.

Lawrence was trying not to think about the rest of the delinquent's body. Often, in interrogations, it helped to make some physical contact. Most of his previous victims had been so scared of him that the moment they felt his hands on them, they'd spilled everything immediately. Lawrence had subconsciously done the same with Adam, and the feel of the little shit's bare skin against his own, even if it was just his hands, sent shivers down his spine.

He wanted to feel the younger man's hands against his own body, wanted to feel his cock in the kid's sweaty hand... He hadn't been able to do that before, since the first thing he'd done was handcuff the man he was fucking.

_No! No! He was doing it again! Thinking about the bastard in a way that he should never have been thinking about him, or any other man for that matter. He was a guy. He was supposed to like women. _Women._ But he'd felt more turned on by Adam than he ever had by any woman._

Adam was biting his lip now, as though afraid to speak. Lawrence snapped himself out of his mind-daze and leant down slightly so that his face was on the same level as the man he was questioning.

"Faulkner," he said, trying to make himself sound impatient and angry. He didn't quite manage this.

When Adam heard his slightly quivering tone, he looked up, obviously feeling safe enough in Lawrence's own arousal to drop another sarcastic comment.

"_Faulkner?"_ he repeated, mimicking Lawrence's intonation. "If you're trying to scare me, I must say, you disappoint me a little. You sound like you're talking to your daughter. Or _Allison."_

He put an extra stress on Allison's name, and without really wanting to, Lawrence panicked again.

_So what if he knows my name,_ he thought while trying to make his face behave, not to look so surprised, _but not my wife's name. Not Allison's. It's not possible. It can't be._

Lawrence looked down at Adam's hands, clasped tightly in his own. And for a brief second, he was really shocked when he saw the fresh, purple, swollen cuts and bruises on the criminal's palms.

_My God,_ he thought as he stared at the wounds with wide eyes. _Was I really that hard on him?_

Lawrence knew the injuries had probably come from pieces of gravel that Adam had scraped himself on, or a piece of glass on the ground of the alley, so they would go away soon enough, but he still wanted to lift his hands to his lips, kiss the still-bleeding wound that ran straight across his palm, coax those agonized moans from him that he'd already learned to love...

_You're doing it again, detective Gordon, you silly man,_ the voice in his head said sternly. _The truth is that you don't want to hurt him, you want to comfort him, you want his clenched jaw to form a smile._

Lawrence ignored the voice. He also ignored his own panic and pressed his thumb against the bleeding, infected wound on Adam's hand. The younger man bit down hard on his lip, but he still couldn't suppress a grunt of pain.

"Stop it!" he blurted out, looking furiously at Lawrence.

"Stop it..." Lawrence said with a sadistic smile, looking back at him.

"Stop it, _please,"_ Adam hissed, obviously not as frustrated as before about asking for stuff. Maybe he'd gotten used to it by now.

Lawrence removed his finger from Adam's cut, but still wouldn't take his hands from his.

"You worthless little piece of _shit,"_ he suddenly spat out, with contempt behind every syllable. "How do you know my full name, and how the _fuck_ do you even know I have a wife?"

Adam grinned at him, despite the fact that the lingering pain from the pressure on his wound had formed tiny, burning tears in his eyes.

"A little stuck on that, are we, Lawrence?" he asked mockingly.

That smile.

Lawrence hated it. And he hated Adam. He hated that goddamned little kid, and he hated the fact that he had a hundredth of Lawrence's money, no apartment, no family, no job, but that he was still so much more powerful, and he hated that Adam had nothing, but still managed to wrap Lawrence around his finger. He hated that when he saw those teasingly sparkling eyes, that smirking mouth, that _fucking_ handsome face, he saw his life, his entire past flashing before his eyes, he saw that Adam was him, he saw the Lawrence he once was in those mocking eyes.

It was like Adam, just by sitting in an uncomfortable chair in an interrogation room, by smiling his crooked smile, managed to take everything away from Lawrence. Everything. All the money he'd gotten, his big house, his beautiful wife, his important job, the entire life he'd built up, with his fucked up past as a foundation.

Everything. Everything was taken away.

So in an act of despair, of anger, of mind-numbing lust, Lawrence got up so quickly that his chair fell back, took two big steps around the table and up to Adam where he sat, his expression confused, and grabbed his shirt, pulled him to his feet and threw him into the blank wall next to them.

Adam grunted when his body hit the hard concrete, and Lawrence was with him in a heartbeat. He pressed his lips roughly down upon his, tasted warm, sweet saliva and tobacco as his teeth drew blood from his lover's bottom lip.

In a weird way, that was all he could do.

**Another cliffhanger! I'm so evil… But if you review, I just might get a little nicer! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Grrr! Sorry for the long delay. I'm sure I can think of some excuses, other than the fact that I'm lazy. Just give me some time. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter. I've made it extra-long and smutty, so hopefully my long absence will be forgiven!**

**5. Lawrence's Redemption**

It wasn't like before. Not one bit. Now, not only was Adam eager, despite himself, to return all of the older man's gestures without having to be persuaded, he was now also free to move his hands and touch and feel hfis lover back. Lawrence was grateful for the "no weapons" policy that was forced upon all of the employees while in the interrogation rooms. No doubt, if he _had_ had his gun on him, Adam would have found it.

Lawrence pressed his lips harder against the younger man's, ignoring the blood that was beginning to trickle down Adam's chin from the pressure, and positioned himself so that he was pushing his prisoner hard against the wall of the room. He always had to be on top, always had to be in control. He wrapped his arms tightly around Adam's neck, forcing his face even closer to his own in an attempt to deepen their kiss.

Grunting against his subjugator's mouth, Adam found his hands beginning to move with their own determination towards Lawrence's shirt. He wanted to feel him, and, for once, he wanted to have at least some control over their situation. But before he'd managed to lift up the shirt, the detective had released his hold on Adam's neck and grabbed his hands with his own, forcing the younger man to bite back a cry of agony as rough hands once again squeezed his wound.

Lawrence was on top of him now, just as he had been in that alley. His body pinned the smaller man's down easily, with no effort, as he slowly moved his captive's hands above his head and forced them down against the hard floor of the room. Adam struggled feebly in an attempt to free himself, but soon gave up. He was overpowered again. He'd tried to gain some control over the older man, and he'd failed miserably. He should have known better than to try.

Lawrence smiled at the frustrated look on the criminal's face. It was easy to see that the cold pressure of the stone floor was slightly easing to his bleeding hand, however, not that he cared one way or the other about how the kid felt. He pressed his mouth against the delinquent's trembling neck and began kissing and sucking hard along the side. Adam's body lurched slightly, involuntarily, from the contact.

"Fuck..." he moaned, only half-ashamed this time of the bulging lump that was appearing all-too quickly between his legs. The detective gave a muffled grunt and pressed one of his knees hard against Adam's crotch.

The younger man gasped in a mixture of surprise and pleasure and struggled once again to free his hands, hoping that the element of surprise would aid him somewhat this time. But Lawrence had been expecting this, and held fast. After a few more feeble thrashes, Adam once again gave up, and simply resigned himself to lying back and enjoying the older man's gestures.

"Lawrence..." he breathed quietly, and was horrified to hear the note of loving and affection in his voice. The other man noticed it, too. Swiftly, he pulled his mouth away from Adam's neck and moved so that he was staring directly down, into his flushed face. He longed to pull him into a tight, affectionate embrace, longed to run his tongue gently along the painful cuts on his hand, longed to call him "Adam" back, instead of the neutral and uncaring "Faulkner."

But he wouldn't. Lawrence could lower his pride to a point in which his lust and desire took over him, and he ruthlessly violated another man, a man who stood for everything he was against, but he could never show any kind of compassion or signs of caring for him. Never.

So, he discarded the passionate use of his name, discarded the tone with which it was spoken, and, in a way, he discarded Adam, or, at the very least, he forgot that the man he was with was a _person_ and simply continued treating him as he had been; as his sex object.

He shifted his hold on the younger man's hands, moving them so that he was holding them in a confident, one-handed grip, and used his now-free hand to lift up Adam's shirt so that he could once again view his pale body. He moved his mouth against one of the delinquent's nipples -- he didn't know nor care which one -- and began to suck fervently on it, harder than he had intended.

Adam was now moaning hard, making no effort to suppress his voice, and shamelessly rubbing himself against the older man's knee, which was still pressed against his ever-hardening erection. Lawrence grunted as he felt his own penis beginning to harden, but did not falter with his kisses on his lover's trembling body.

The nipple he was kissing was now almost as hard as the pulsing cock under his knee, and he found himself releasing his grip on the younger man's shirt, so that it fell over his own head as he continued kissing and sucking at the hardened nipple, and moving his hand slowly down to the throbbing erection of Adam's.

He was drinking in every moan he could force out of the kid's mouth, but he was still worried. The paranoid side of him was well-aware of the fact that even though his boss had huge trust in him, he could still get the impulse to knock on the door at any second, just to make sure Lawrence wasn't abusing his prisoner or something, just like all the interrogators in the entire core had done, really, but that no one cared about.

But the lustful side of him didn't give a damn. That side of him wanted to kiss Adam, kiss the wounds on his hand, kiss his pale, soft neck, and didn't care at all about what the consequences could be.

Lawrence's head was still rational. But his body...

_God, his body..._

His body, and his feelings, were eating up that part of him bit by bit, and he loved it.

"Quiet," he muttered, lifting his free hand to cover Adam's mouth. The younger man wriggled his head to get it away.

"I thought you said there weren't any cameras in here," he mumbled under ragged breath.

"No, but there is a door," Lawrence said, raising himself to Adam's mouth again and kissing him briefly, with a careful lovingness that scared even him. "And you make a damn amount of noise."

Adam chuckled softly, and Lawrence pressed his lips down upon his again, a little more violently than he really wanted, and tasted the thick, warm, liquid-metal that was his blood, felt Adam's tongue fight with his own to gain control, and Lawrence won, of course, and he felt Adam melt under his touches and his kisses, under the hand that unzipped his fly.

The younger man sucked in a gasp as he felt his captor's fingers close around his erection once again. As for Lawrence, his brain in some way seemed to have stopped working, or at least had had a temporary shutdown. It was full of a strange buzzing sound, a buzzing that kept him from seeing anything but Adam's face as he once again started to jerk him off, from hearing anything but his lover's moans, from feeling anything but the small, thin body underneath his own and the soft throbbing of the cock under his hand...

Jesus Christ. What was he doing to him? What was it about Adam that suddenly made him all emotional, all... loving?

The old Lawrence would never have given him release this quickly. The detective did his best to bring some of his old self out, some small part of him that didn't want to see Adam calm and peaceful, but writhing in the pain of his own lust. A little of him should still be unaffected by the kid...

Lawrence pulled himself away from the younger man's mouth, breathing hard and fast into his face. He still kept up a steady pace with the hand-job, which caused the receiver to grunt and moan every-so-often. But he'd managed to find that part of himself, the ruthless part, much to his relief.

It was this part of him that had made the older man pull himself away from Adam's mouth, even though he craved his lips like he'd never craved anything before, and it was this part of him that had made him slow his strokes on his prisoner's cock and tighten his grip on his wrists, which he still held above his head.

"Faulkner," he murmured, releasing his hold on Adam's wrists and moving his now-free hand to his lover's trembling lips.

The criminal knew better than to attempt to move his freed hands. He kept them above his head, still resting his bleeding one against the hard, stone floor in an attempt to ease the pain. He moaned softly as the older man traced his index finger over his bottom lip, as if to shush him.

The strokes Lawrence was still delivering were now painfully slow. He'd almost hoped his imprisoner would reframe from teasing him this time. He'd thought that he'd actually satisfy him out of kindness this one time, but of course not. He was going to make him suffer for as long as he could contain his own lust. Just like before. Just like all the other times Adam knew would follow.

"How did you know my name, Faulkner?" Lawrence said quietly, moving so that his mouth was resting against the other man's neck.

Adam gulped once, feeling unmistakable fear beginning to well up inside of him, mingling with the pleasure. He bit down on his own tongue, hard, in an attempt to stop himself from whimpering, unsure if the drops of blood that followed were from that bite or from Lawrence's passionate gestures from before. The older man made a long, teasing stroke down Adam's still-pulsing cock and the delinquent felt himself involuntarily arch his body up into the touch.

"God..." he muttered, his words slightly muffled against Lawrence's finger still on his lips.

He arched his back again, disgusted that he actually wanted to be closer to his tormenter than he already was. His breathing was coming in harsh, ragged gasps, and his exposed chest heaved uncontrollably as he struggled to draw breath. Lawrence bit down gently, _too_ gently, on his neck, and Adam moaned again, shuddering all over from the amazing level of pleasure that was washing over him.

"How did you know my name, Faulkner?" Lawrence asked again, addressing the younger man's trembling neck as he kissed and sucked at it. His voice was harsh, stern, and it sent shivers up the listener's spine.

Adam wanted to move his hands and hug the detective back, especially now that he had the opportunity to. But he knew that if he did, Lawrence would almost certainly make him suffer. And he was suffering enough as it was. He felt himself beginning to get lightheaded as the other man moved his hand from his mouth and wrapped it securely around his waist, bringing the two closer together, which was what the criminal wanted more than anything at this moment.

To his surprise, Adam found himself answering the question he'd been asked, without really thinking about it. All he was trying to do was to get the damn cop to move his hands... _faster_. To relieve him faster. Maybe if he answered his question, he would.

"I... read the... files," he ground out between clenched teeth as Lawrence continued sucking at his collarbone. To Adam's horror, the older man pulled away abruptly at this, his hand on the younger man's erection slackening and his other falling limp around his waist. Adam almost wailed out loud at this, and he focused his glazed eyes on his tormenter, glaring at him with every ounce of hatred and frustration he could muster.

"_What_ files, Faulkner?" Lawrence asked, his voice no longer husky with lust and desire, but low with suspicion and dislike.

Adam didn't care that he was absolutely terrified. He didn't care that his erection was actually painful -- _by God, it was painful_ -- by now. He didn't care that Lawrence was definitely stronger than him, that he had been right when he'd said that he could blow Adam's head off without breaking a law.

He still stared into Lawrence's eyes with a gaze that was dripping with hatred, with lust shining, like little tips of needles, in his glazed eyes. He wouldn't let his gaze drop. He wouldn't let Lawrence win.

Adam slowly moved his hands from their position above his head and sneaked them firmly around the older man's neck, and he did his best not to let his heart, which was pounding with fear, affect his face.

Like hell he'd let Lawrence win.

"I read the form you had to fill out when you graduated in Police Academy," he mumbled, enjoying Lawrence's disgusted, almost frightened look as the prisoner drew a trace of infected blood along his neck. "It said your name is Lawrence Michael Gordon, twenty-three years at 1995, married to Allison Charlson Gordon, father of Diana Gordon... And as teacher's comments, it said that you seemed like a very promising student."

He chuckled, even though the burning fire that had risen in Lawrence's eyes made him more scared than he'd ever been in his life.

"You should call those guys and tell them what you do to your prisoners."

Lawrence stared at him with the same strange mixture of hatred and desire in his eyes, his jaw clenched, and the hand on his companion's waist suddenly clenching into a fist.

But then, out of the blue, the hatred went away all together. It was replaced by a calm, gritted anger that scared Adam even more than what had been there before. The hand that was on his waist slid up his stomach and his chest and caressed his cheek, as if Lawrence really felt for him, because of the plagues that would soon be upon him.

"They're very aware of what I do to my prisoners, Faulkner," he murmured against Adam's lips. "Why do you think they wrote that I was a promising student? They know very well that when I get a grip on a dirty, disgusting little piece of shit, such as yourself, I'm fucking merciless. I kick their asses in the interrogation room and give them five more years than they deserve. And that's with prisoners that don't annoy me. The ones that _do_, though..."

He bent down and kissed Adam again, softly and gently, without even using his tongue, and Adam felt his blood run cold and his hands falling limp from Lawrence's neck.

He knew what would come.

He had no idea why he'd let his hands drop. He'd _wanted_ to embrace the older man back, gain at least a little power. But the words that had just come out of the detective's mouth had all but paralyzed him with fear and resentment. Mostly fear. He'd never felt more terrified in his life, or so vulnerable. Lawrence's rough hand, still resting on his cheek, and his other, clutching his massively-increasing erection, felt warm and comforting on his own body, which felt like it was completely void of blood.

Lawrence was still kissing him, far too gently and not at all in a satisfying way, still refusing to use his tongue or teeth. He was silent, almost grim, as he tortured his prisoner, but Adam, in contrast, moaned long and hard into the kiss, his dignity having deserted him. He couldn't move his hands, or any other part of his body. He felt too drunk from the pleasure, or, more accurately, the _lack_ of pleasure, he was receiving. It was amazing how such light and tranquil gestures could immobilize him so much.

Finally, after what seemed like agonizing decades, Lawrence, too, appeared to grow tired of tormenting his victim. Adam supposed that it was frustrating for him to have to torture himself in order to affectively torture _him_. The older man seemed to have forgotten about the files, about Adam's surprising confession about them, or at the very least, he had discarded the notion for the time being. Without any real delicacy, or polite hesitations, Lawrence roughly pushed the younger man over onto his stomach, letting go of his flushed cheek and throbbing cock as he did so.

Adam gritted his teeth in fierce impatience as his tormenter hurriedly unzipped and lowered both their pants. He didn't care that it would hurt, that Lawrence would be inserting all of his anger and lust into him in the space of a few seconds -- as long as it took him to climax, which couldn't be all that long. He just wanted him.

While Lawrence, having already succeeded in uncovering the bottom half of his lover, was fervently working on removing his own burdens, the prisoner eased himself into a slightly more comfortable position, using his hands to support his face. He was trembling and shuddering uncontrollably, just as he had been in that alley. His breathing was becoming harder and more tense as he waited eagerly to once again be violated. _God, he was sick._ He didn't even have Lawrence's cock inside him yet, and he was already more turned on than he could ever remember being in his life.

_Finally_, Lawrence, too, had removed his lower-clothing. Adam suppressed a moan of pleasure with difficulty when he felt the older man's obvious arousal rubbing against his thigh and his hand once again slip down under his body to grip his own throbbing cock. Grunting, the detective positioned himself securely above the younger man, hesitated for a brief second, then entered.

It still wasn't like the other time.

The last time had been so... real. That was why Lawrence had felt alive for the first time in... Fuck, he didn't know how long. It had been real. And Adam... He had seen hookers drag their costumers into those alleys all his life, he'd grown up to the sound of prostitutes moaning outside his window. It wasn't uncommon. People had sex in allies all the time, so it had been real.

This time, it was all surreal.

Adam didn't know why. In some way, it was the strange combination of a clinically clean, civil interrogation room and the raw lusts of the flesh that made it surreal. The throbbing of the wound in Adam's hand made it surreal, Lawrence's grip on his shirt made it surreal, the feeling of his insides being torn apart by the other man's cock inside him made it surreal.

Adam grunted in pain when he felt that odd, tingling and agonizing sensation he'd learned how to recognize.

"Jesus Christ..." he hissed between gritted teeth.

"Shut up," Lawrence bit back, and Adam obeyed.

He didn't even want to think of what his captor would do to him if he objected.

The older man's hand danced over Adam's clothes, impatient and wanting, searching, seeking for... something. And he didn't know what until he found the hem of Adam's shirt and allowed his hand to creep in under it, feeling the soft, naked skin there, feeling Adam shudder under his touch.

Fuck. He was doing it again. He couldn't let the warm, fuzzy feeling he felt for Adam overrule the mind-numbing desire. He couldn't let that happen.

So Lawrence took his hand out of Adam's shirt and mercilessly thrust into him again, relishing his forced, agonized moans, and already felt the arousal pressure his erection. God, it would only take him seconds to come. And his mind was so clouded by now, he didn't even think of the fact that his hand found a way of its own into Adam's shirt, raked his nails over his pale skin.

Lawrence hoped he left scars.

Adam, on his part, had no idea why he was enjoying this so much. It wasn't like it felt _good_. Fuck, it hurt more than anything he could ever remember. The rapidly-moving hand on his still-erected cock felt _good_, the warm body of the older man pressing down on his felt _good_. The nails digging harder and harder into his side, drawing painful drops of blood, _hurt_. And the feeling of Lawrence inside him, moving faster and faster as he quickly began to climax... God, it was the worst pain Adam had ever felt in his life.

Even so, the young criminal found himself moaning harder and harder as his captor plowed mercilessly into him, his arousal practically tearing his victim's insides apart. He found himself arching his body up to meet the sick man's violent thrusts, trying to bring them even closer than they already were.

Lawrence, however, completely ignored the younger man's agonized moans and grunts. He ignored the fact that Adam was trying to, in simplest terms, fuck him back, arching himself up into the harsh plunges his tormenter was delivering. All Lawrence cared about was his own maddening desire and need for release. He was still stroking the delinquent's own erection, which felt at least as big as his, but the gesture was more automatic than anything else. He felt obligated to jerk Adam off if he was fucking him. It was only fair, after all.

The older man's mind began to go completely blank as he reached his much-wanted orgasm, for the second time in under, what, five hours? He had no idea why he desired the little shit below him so much, and at the moment he didn't care, either. He dug his nails hard into Adam's quivering ribs, feeling sick satisfaction mingling with the maddening pleasure as he felt more drops of blood running down his fingers. The criminal didn't seem to notice, however. He was either in too much pain from the erected cock still filling him, or too caught up in his own climax.

Both men came at more-or-less the same time. Adam gave a long, half-agonized, half-blissful whimper and released into the older man's indifferent hand. Lawrence thrust out of his prisoner one last time, and came all over his trembling, naked backside. Just like before, this took all of their energy, and Lawrence once again collapsed onto his companion, feeling the familiar sensation of cum between his legs and against his fingers. He hurriedly moved his hand off Adam's drained length and flopped it down beside the delinquent's own wobbly hands. Both were breathing hard, most of their anger and awareness gone in that extremely passionate act of impulse.

**Enjoy! And, of course, read and review! Or... Or else!**


	6. Chapter 6

**ARGH! It's really been forever, hasn't it? And I complain over all the slow updaters… Anyway, I'm really sorry for the delay! I swear on Adam's grave that the next chapter will be up this week! Anyway, enjoy!**

**6. Freedom Doesn't Come Easily**

"Okay, Faulkner," Lawrence said, letting go of Adam's elbow as he pushed him roughly into the holding cell once more. "This will probably be similar to the room where you'll eventually be staying. Better get used to it."

"I don't get a trial?" Adam asked in a mock-displeased tone, looking around the prison cell that his captor had dropped him off in.

"Nope," Lawrence said sarcastically, grinning as he locked the barred door. "There was a trial. We probably just forgot to bring you to it."

"Ha-ha-ha," Adam hissed, and rubbed the red marks around his wrists where the handcuffs had been. "That's funny. You're so damn funny, Lawrence."

Lawrence sent him an annoyed look while re-hooking the keys to his belt.

"It's "detective Gordon" to you, Faulkner."

"Really?" Adam said. He looked slowly over at the uncomfortable, springy-looking bed where he was expected to sleep. "In the interrogation room, you seemed to be okay with me calling you "Lawrence," Lawrence."

Lawrence felt his key boring into his palm as he closed his hand into a fist.

Adam wasn't supposed to be this way.

Adam was supposed to be like the other criminals. Just like when he fell asleep in the car, his reaction was completely wrong. He wasn't supposed to be calm and sarcastic. He wasn't supposed to see Lawrence as an equal. He was supposed to scream and cry and fight. He was not, not, _not_ supposed to be the way he was now.

He wasn't supposed to remind Lawrence about what he'd done a second time.

"Listen to me," Lawrence growled, and grabbed one of the bars of the door. "What happened in the interrogation room..."

"And the alley," Adam interrupted, ignoring Lawrence's angrily flaming eyes.

The older man pretended not to have heard him.

"...Was nothing. Get it? _Nothing!_ It meant nothing to me, and nothing to you, and it was just a damn sympathy-fuck that never happened. You hear me, Adam?"

And there it was.

"Adam." Up until now, Adam had been "Faulkner." Lawrence's sex object. A burglar that he'd bonded with a little more than he'd wanted. He'd been no one.

And now, he was a person. He was Adam.

And Adam's smug smile underlined that fact more than enough.

"Adam?" the criminal said softly, turning his eyes towards his captor once more. "I'm _Adam_ now?"

Lawrence opened his mouth. He wanted to have something to say, some way to get back the upper hand that he'd gained, but his head was empty. He was empty.

"I got sick of your last name," he said after a few too many seconds. "I mean, _Faulkner?_ Even "Adam" is better than that."

"Mm," Adam said, without losing his irritating grin. "My last name sucks. But it was good enough before, wasn't it?"

"All of you sucks."

God, he sounded like a three year-old.

"Really?" Adam said, and that damn smirk just got wider. "I've never sucked anything in my life. That seems more like your thing. Maybe someone should tell your wife about this?"

Lawrence's heart sank. Sank like a stone, disappeared to his feet with all the warmth, and for a brief second, he got so cold, so cold, before the anger blossomed up again, like lava that streamed through his veins, ate away like acid. Strengthened. Gave him the energy to throw his hand out between the bars. A dull, ringing sound sang through the cell and Adam jumped back to avoid his hand. Still with that fucking smile.

"If you tell anyone," Lawrence hissed, spitting out every syllable, _"anyone_ about this, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

Adam's smile faded away when he approached the bars again, step by step, very slowly, until he was so close that his nose was practically touching the other's.

"The only ones I _can_ tell about this," he then said lowly, "are my people. And believe me, that will never happen. Because neither one of them would ever talk to me again if they knew I'd lowered to your fucking level, even for a second_. Lawrence."_

Lawrence's grip on his keys made them shave against the bones in his fingers, slip around in the sweat on his palm, but he didn't move. Wouldn't hit again, wouldn't see Adam jump back, because then, he would win. And the leverage he'd gotten, no matter how much he tried to avoid it, was bad enough. So Lawrence turned around and left. And Adam's smile returned when he saw his back moving further and further away.

He'd won. And now, he'd get out of here.

Adam didn't wait a second before he walked up to his faltering bed in the corner of the room, knelt in front of it, stretched his neck to see if someone was coming down the hallway, before he lifted the mattress a little, found a hole in the fabric that he tugged on with his index finger until it was big enough for his hand. Then, he rummaged around in there, the filthy cotton was sticky against his hand, before he felt the think, cold circling metal of a spring that he pulled out of the mattress with a weird, brandishing sound.

Adam stuck his tongue out through the corner of his mouth in concentration and started bending the spring so that it _almost_ looked like a proper lock pick. He was good at this; the very process of grabbing whatever happened to be close to him and turning it into a lock pick, but God knew that if he'd ever marry a rich girl, he'd ask for a real set of these things as soon as he had a birthday...

After a few minutes, and a lot of little cuts on his hands, as if the big, infected ones that he'd gotten in the alley weren't enough, Adam at least had something that... Well, yeah, _almost_ looked like a proper lock pick. And once he'd established that no steps were sounding in the hallway right then, either, he stuck his hand out between the bars.

The spring slipped around between his sweaty fingers, which were still shaking so damn much that he could barely get the damn thing into the lock, by the way, but eventually, he did it. It squeaked blood-chillingly when the sharp metal scraped against the lock tumblers, and Adam almost felt like crying. He _would_ get out of here, he would _not_ get caught, he'd get away from Lawrence and _he'd get the fucking lock up with the fucking lock pick, for fuck's sake!_

And like the lock had heard him, or just desperately wanted to get rid of the young man's violent jiggling, it surrendered, with a creaking sigh, and slid open. Adam let out a shaky breath, dropped his head out of pure relief for a few seconds before he opened the door without bothering to take the now even more bent spring out of the lock.

He would get out of here.

As Adam began to sneak down the maze of long corridors that he vaguely remembered going through with Lawrence earlier, quickly changing course if he saw any policemen approaching him from another turn, the young man realized that he'd completely forgotten about the security camera in his cell. The damn contraption had probably caught everything...

But then again, it had been a low security cell. Maybe, _hopefully,_ no one had been watching his cell. After all, there were no alarms, no warnings that a prisoner had escaped... yet. Maybe whoever was in charge of the surveillance cameras hadn't seen him?

Adam smirked at that. Sometimes people were so stupid that it almost hurt. The police approaching from other corridors were idiots, too. They either didn't see him before he ducked out of sight, or else thought that he was one of them from such a distance. They were all morons. That was probably why the young delinquent hadn't been caught in the last six months.

As he continued to make his way down the corridor, Adam's thoughts drifted slowly to Lawrence. That man would be angry when he saw the security video. He'd be angry that his colleagues had let the man he'd just managed to capture escape. And... And he'd be angry with him. Horribly angry.

_Why do you care how that bastard feels?_ a cold voice inside Adam's head asked incredulously, as the young criminal hurriedly turned into another passage to avoid two distant approaching figures from the corridor that he'd been walking down.

_Because he's a professional,_ Adam answered himself sternly. _Because when he pointed his gun at me in that alleyway and told me he'd kill me if I tried anything, I'd never been more terrified in my life._

That was true enough. Adam had been so confident, so unbeatable, ever since he'd first started burgling houses, that he'd never expected to be cornered in his own place by a fucking cop. It hurt his pride a lot, and the delinquent knew that he'd have to be a lot more careful after this. Lawrence would be looking for him once he realized he'd escaped. He wasn't the sort of person who would let a prisoner run away, especially if it was one that he himself had caught, and one that he obviously loathed so much.

_You liked the feeling of him, didn't you, Adam?_ the voice persisted mercilessly, as the escaping man peered carefully behind a twist in the new passage that he'd taken. He kept getting the feeling that he'd see Lawrence around one of them, standing there with his revolver in one hand, and a pair of handcuffs in the other. It scared him. But upon hearing his mind's newest accusation, the young man stopped short, blushing furiously.

But he shook it off before long. He could argue with himself later, when he wasn't in the middle of escaping from a police station. He did _not_ like Lawrence. That was an obvious argument, anyway.

With a surge of relief and joy, Adam turned one last corner and found himself looking at a door that read: IN CASE OF FIRE. Up until now, he had been convinced that he'd have to make a run for it through the station lobby, hoping against hope that Lawrence would not be there, and trusting his well-trained legs to run like they'd never run before.

But now, he realized, annoyed, even in his joy, at his own slowness, he could just take the fire exit. Lawrence might set his _colleagues_ on fire when he realized that his prisoner had escaped, so using the door probably wouldn't be abusing its "emergencies only" sign, located underneath the fire warning. It was an emergency, anyway. Adam had no intention of spending the next five years or so of his life in a jail cell, with Lawrence walking in every second day to fuck him senseless.

_It kind of ruins the point when you think of the good aspects of staying here, Adam._

Ignoring this annoying thought, the thought which was one-hundred percent _wrong,_ anyway, Adam roughly yanked open the fire door, relieved that it wasn't locked, and ran through it, slamming it behind him and rushing eagerly down the narrow hallway that it led into, towards the other door on the far side, the door that would lead him outside, towards freedom.

**YAY! Adam escaped! I'm so proud of him… Anyway, reviews make me happy!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Well, here we go! Here's the update that I promised! Please continue to read and review. And if you're not reviewing and you like the fic, then please start reviewing! It really gives me encouragement and happiness. And if you don't like the fic, then review, anyway! :P**

**7. Release**

"Hey, Jack..."

The young man turned quizzically at the sound of his name being called. He had just been getting ready to go out and buy himself some lunch, but shortly before he'd reached the main lobby of the station, he'd been stopped. The person who had stopped him was Jeff, a man who worked with the security cameras of the place's short-term holding cells. He was usually very easygoing and worry-free, but right now, he looked quite shocked and scared.

"What is it, Jeff?" Jack asked, trying to sound sympathetic and interested, rather than impatient. The other man drew in his breath slowly, then let it out, even more slowly, as though he were preparing himself for something difficult.

"I want to show you something," he said, turning on his heel and beckoning for his coworker to follow him. With a weary sigh, Jack obeyed, silently assuring his rumbling stomach that he would satisfy it soon.

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Jack was sitting heavily on one of the surveillance room's hard, uncomfortable chairs, staring with horror at the screen of one of the many television sets on the wall. A recorded tape was showing Adam, the criminal who had been brought in only _hours_ ago, expertly making a lock pick and using it to escape from his cell.

Lawrence had gone home shortly after interrogating the criminal, and had stated that he would not be returning until late the next day, so the idiotic, insult to security guards of a watchman had confided in the next best person; indeed, the only other person besides Lawrence who had anything to do with the delinquent's case. Jack.

"How old is this recording?" Jack asked, cupping his face wearily in one of his hands and sighing.

"About two hours," Jeff replied, somewhat sheepishly. "Normally, we check the recordings more often, and we would have noticed an escape usually, but--"

"You fucking idiot," Jack interrupted, though more in a defeated and tired voice than an angry one. "Faulkner will be miles away by now. It'll take a miracle to catch him again."

Jeff said nothing, only nodded and shuffled his feet meekly. With a low groan, Jack looked up from his hand and watched the small, black and white image of Adam sneaking out of the cell, a smirk clearly showing on his lips, despite the poor quality of the video.

"I'll call Lawrence," Jack grunted, getting to his feet with another sigh. "I suppose you expect _me_ to tell him about this, right?"

The other man didn't reply in words, but went on nodding like an idiot, looking thoroughly relieved. Jack had half a mind to make Jeff tell Lawrence about Adam's escape, make him bear the infamous anger of the legendary, bad-ass cop. But he knew it would be better coming from him than from Jeff. Lawrence _would_ be angry. Very angry. But the desk boy was certain that he could stand it.

He left the security room, which he felt was a very poor example of such, and made his way into the lobby. Sighing, realizing that he would have to wait even longer to get something to eat, Jack picked up the phone and dialed Lawrence's home number, silently praying to God as he did so that his friend would not be _too_ angry.

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Adam lay huddled on the floor of the temporary hiding place he'd managed to find -- an abandoned storage room. It wasn't a very good hiding place. It was far too close to the police station for his liking, but he'd been so tired, ever since... Well, ever since he and Lawrence had met in that dark, deserted alley.

It'd taken all of his energy just to make it down here. All of the adrenalin that it had taken to escape his cell, then wander several passages until he found a way out, had been exhausting. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't slept properly for weeks. It was quite hard to get comfortable on hard ground, or on the pathetic excuse for a bed in his cell, which had only been good for producing a makeshift lock-pick.

And, he'd had to run the six blocks down here, full-pelt, terrified all the time that he was being followed. When the young man had been unable to run any more and had had to settle for the shelter of the storage room, the lock on its door, though it had been incredibly easy to break in comparison to the lock in his cell, had almost been too much.

By the time he had forced the lock open with a stray piece of metal he had found nearby -- and the growing exhaustion had made it take a lot longer than such a task normally would have -- the young criminal had had just enough strength left to close the door behind him, hoping that no one would notice the absence of the lock, crawl into the first room he found, which contained nothing but metal shelves and cardboard boxes, and seat himself in a corner, shivering with cold and tiredness. All in all, it had taken a lot out of him.

Adam groaned slightly and wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth as he did so. He was so tired... And he ached all over. He could barely move an inch without his tortured muscles giving sharp little protests. _And_ he was cold. So cold...

It was obvious why he was feeling these things. He was tired because what he and Lawrence had done had forced the young man to feel emotions and arousal, and he hadn't felt them in a very long time. He was aching because he'd been fiercely and passionately manhandled and, for want of a better word, raped, twice in the last twenty four hours. And, he was cold because, despite everything, he missed feeling that bastard's naked body pressing against his, missed the feeling of the bastard's hands roaming his own shivering body...

_No!_ No, no, no! He did _not_ just think that. He hated Lawrence, and everything about him. He hated his stupid, smug smile, his neat, blond hair, his sparkling, blue eyes...

"Fuck..." Sighing heavily, Adam lifted a hand and ran it through his hair. It didn't help that Lawrence had done the exact same thing not too long ago.

He didn't love Lawrence. He didn't care about him. He didn't even desire him. What had happened between them those two times had just been his stupid body, responding to the attention that it hadn't received in ages. His body had probably thought that it had been a girl he was kissing.

_Then why were you begging him to stick his cock inside you, Adam?_ a voice asked mockingly inside the delinquent's head. _Girls don't have cocks, do they? You wouldn't have been begging him to do anything with his if you weren't genuinely attracted to him._

Okay, so he was attracted to guys... So what? Plenty of people were. In fact, half the population was gay. More than half. Everyone was gay... It didn't mean that he cared about Lawrence.

_Who are you trying to fool, Adam?_

"Shut up..."

Adam buried his face in his hands and once again submitted himself to curling up into a little ball in an attempt to keep warm. He'd always done this. He'd usually _had_ to, since... Well, since a long time ago, anyway. And it didn't take long for his exhaustion and aching to overcome his coldness. Before five more minutes had passed, Adam was leaning against one of the heavy, metal bookshelves of the room, his eyes closed and his breathing peaceful.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"_What_?"

Jack gulped and stared at his desk for a few seconds before his gaze flickered to his nails and then to the wall next to him. He really looked at everything except for Lawrence. And no one at that point would have blamed him.

Lawrence was absolutely furious. His face was scarlet, his teeth were bared like an angry dog's, his hands, which were on top of Jack's reports, had clenched into fists and turned his freshest applications into little balls. His eyes were like two burning pieces of iron that bored into his coworker's head, and Jack thought at that moment that he completely understood all of the criminals for being so afraid of Lawrence. If this was how he looked when he was so angry...

"He _escaped_?" Lawrence spat out between his gritted teeth. "Hell, the kid's _twenty_ or something, he was in a cell _ten damn feet away from your fucking desk, _and you let him escape?"

"He was in a low-budget cell," Jack defended himself.

Lawrence straightened up and dropped a few stray reports from his clenched fists. His breathing was fast and hard, as though he were trying his best to calm down.

"Can't you do anything here without me?" he hissed. "I'm gone for a few fucking hours, and you let a guy we've been chasing for half a year go? Why do we put locks on the cells at all? Why do we even _have_ a damn station?!"

"It's Adam Faulkner," Jack said, trying to smooth out the reports Lawrence had wrinkled. "He's young, but he's known for his ability to pick locks. In his neighborhood, they usually--"

"Jack, shut up," Lawrence cut him off, picking up his jacket from a chair next to him. "I'll find him, okay? And if you have the ability, send some guys out to patrol around the alley behind Macy's."

Without waiting for an answer, he put on his jacket and walked out.

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Adam was asleep.

For the first time he could remember in ages, he was sleeping, heavily and dreamlessly. His head was resting against the cool metal of the bookcase and his arms had fallen limply to the floor.

He had no idea what would come.

He was just a stupid, naïve little kid who had been lolled into a false sense of security.

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Lawrence stopped his car so abruptly that his forehead was thrown into the steering wheel in front of him. He straightened up, grunted, and rubbed the bruise that was spreading itself under his bangs. But not even through the darkness, out through the feeling of dazedness that had come to him when his head had hit the steering wheel, could anyone be mistaken about what he saw.

But in the meantime...

It couldn't be. Adam might have been young, but he was smart, no doubt about it. He couldn't have been so damn stupid... Could he?

_Yes. Obviously, he could._

Yeah. Lawrence had driven past that storage door twice every day on his way to and from work, and it had always been locked. But now, he could tell, despite the fact that it was just a couple of hundred feet away from the police station, that the lock was picked.

Lawrence turned the car key to switch off the engine. He chuckled bitterly as he opened the car door and slammed it shut behind him, and inside of his adult body, there was a burning, childish, insane excitement about what he knew would come.

_Adam..._

He banged the storage door open with an angry motion, no lack of noise, but didn't care. The fucking kid might as well have been a headstone. He could run around in the empty room like a stupid little rat, trying to flee from the big bad cat.

_Let him run. Let him hide._

_I'll find him. I will find the little bastard._

Lawrence was almost disappointed when he entered a big concrete room that, if you oversaw a few metal shelves in one of the corners and three empty boxes in the other, was completely empty. Finding Adam wasn't hard at all, and he hadn't tried, either.

He was asleep.

He was in a corner, asleep.

Adam's face was relaxed and peaceful. He hadn't even taken his leather jacket off, but had let it hang loosely over his shoulders. His head resting against one of the bookcases, and his knees were pulled up in front of him. His arms seemed to have been wrapped around them when he was awake, but now, they were next to his legs, his hands turned upwards, the old wounds from the alley glowing from his pale palms.

All the anger Lawrence felt for him was washed away in a heartbeat.

But as soon as he felt it beginning to be replaced by that warm, terrible thing he'd felt for Adam when he had seen him sleeping in the police car, he forced the anger back out, but in a new form.

Repulse.

Fucking little kid.

Worthless piece of shit.

Lawrence walked a few paces forward and stared down with disgust at the young man in front of him. He was asleep. Again. Such a weak little... _pathetic_ waste of space.

_He looks cute when he's sleeping, doesn't he?_

Lawrence clenched his fists, livid. No, Adam did _not_ look cute. He _never_ looked cute. He was just a useless piece of jailbait that he'd had the misfortune to fuck. A sympathy-fuck. That was all it had been.

_You're trying to convince yourself of something that you know full-well isn't true, Lawrence._

Fine. He'd been attracted to him. He was gay. Big deal. Lots of people were gay. But he could find a lot better company than _Adam_. What he'd felt for him had been lust. Nothing else.

_What about that guilty feeling you got when you locked him up? You'd never felt guilt for any of your prisoners before... __And what about the fact that he's so much more powerful than you? That he doesn't have to do a thing to take everything away from you?_

Now, Lawrence didn't have to try to make the anger come back. He hated Adam.

He wished he'd had his keys to clutch to in his pocket. Because the voice was right. Adam took everything away from him, he took everything away just by sitting on a chair and grinning, and he took everything away just by sleeping on a cold, hard concrete floor. So calm, so peaceful.

Because when Lawrence saw him, his expensive uniform suddenly became a worn, leather jacket that he'd found in a dumpster, the floor beneath his feet turned into the grimy streets of New York, cold water seeped in through his battered and muddy shoes, and he was cold, he was so dreadfully cold. Because now, his entire foundation had come down. Now, everything he'd built up had crumbled, the very thing he'd feared since he had been twenty but that he'd chosen not to think about happened. Right then.

Now, he was seventeen again.

Without bothering to wake Adam up, without any warning whatsoever, Lawrence knelt down beside his companion and struck. He hit him hard on the side of the forehead. He didn't bother to wait for a reaction. He just struck him again. And again. And again...

Adam's eyes opened, then widened in confusion and fear as he struggled to make sense of his situation. Lawrence didn't bother to enlighten him, he just kept on hitting. With every blow, the older man felt slightly better. He felt as though everything bad that had ever happened to him had been Adam's fault, and that by hurting _him_, he could stop himself from hurting.

The young criminal's grunts and whimpers of pain were music to Lawrence's ears. The warm blood that ran down his hand as he hit him, his blows gaining more and more force with each strike, were like delicious food and drink. The feel of Adam's body, convulsing slightly with each blow, warmed the detective all over.

The kid didn't dare fight back. Didn't even try to defend himself from the harsh strikes, even as the pain became worse and worse, until it rose to an agonizing pitch, making it feel like every single bone and muscle in his body was on fire. He knew what would happen if he tried to fight back, so he didn't. He just sat there, acting like the pain didn't exist, even though it did. At least he was smart enough in that respect.

Finally, when he had no more aggression to unleash and his hands were too tired to hit anymore, Lawrence slumped against the wall beside his battered victim.

He glanced sideways at him. His face was covered with blood, as though someone had thrown a bucket of red paint at him, but other than that, he looked just as he always had... Except for his expression. The defiant glint in the eyes, the stubborn clench of the jaw... Adam had hated him before, Lawrence knew, but now, he'd given a whole new meaning to the world. The kid _loathed_ him.

For some reason, this made the older man smirk. He moved so he was completely facing the criminal, and, without really thinking, put his arms around him. It was more a controlling and domineering gesture than anything else, but Adam didn't seem to have the energy or will to pull away.

Lazily, still not really thinking, Lawrence began to trace semi-aggressive kisses up the side of the other man's neck. The young delinquent gave a suppressed moan, somewhere between pleasure and pain, as the other man's tongue brushed up against a place under his chin where he'd been hit several times, and where blood was still trickling down like a fountain.

It wasn't until he'd removed both their shirts and positioned himself on top of Adam that Lawrence realized what he was doing. He moved his mouth away from the shuddering man's chest, which he'd been gently caressing with his lips and teeth, and looked his victim in the eyes.

"You know I feel nothing for you, Faulkner," he murmured quietly, making small circles around his lover's waist with his fingers. "I just need someone to play with for a while. Until I find someone better, sort myself out."

He just had time to see the hurt and despairing look on Adam's face before he bowed his head again and went back to work on his chest, while still gently massaging the younger man's waist with his hands.

**Well, once again, I end the chapter just as the smut is starting up! Damn, I'm such a bitch. XD Well, if you review, I might update a little faster... So go ahead and click on the little button on the left! Pretty please?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey there! Missed me? Why, of course you did… Since as always, I left you right in the smut! And since I'm not a bitch, I have now decided to have mercy on your souls and update, with some FINISHED smut!**

**8. In Way Over Your Head**

Adam clenched his teeth hard to keep from crying out as Lawrence ran his tongue slowly over his left nipple. He was breathing hard, harder than he wanted to, and he could tell that his gasping and shuddering was only turning the older man on even more.

Lawrence hated him. He'd said it himself; Adam meant nothing to him. He was just his... _toy_ until he found someone better. Adam hated Lawrence, too. He despised him. The places where the detective had hit him ached and pulsed, mingling with the pleasure from the kisses and touches he was currently receiving.

Lawrence lifted one hand from Adam's waist and moved it to his bleeding cheek, just under his left eye. The younger man sucked in his breath sharply, but not quickly enough to stop the low moan of pain that escaped his lips. His tormenter stroked his face roughly for a few moments, still sucking at his nipples, but working his way slowly up and eventually coming face-to-face with his compafnion.

They glared into each other's eyes, both hating the other, but loving them at the same time. Loving their bodies, at least. Loving the pleasure they got from one another. Lawrence pressed his lips against Adam's, kissing him furiously, attacking the inside of his mouth with his tongue and nibbling on his bottom lip. The criminal, still dazed and in pain, tried to return the gestures, but eventually gave up, simply lying back and accepting them instead.

Finally, after satisfying himself for the moment, Lawrence pulled away, breaking the kiss. He still had his hand on Adam's left cheek, and he ran his fingers softly against it. The younger man grunted and arched his back slightly, pressing his body against his lover's with all his strength.

"Lawrence..." he moaned, his voice low and tired-sounding.

"Shut up," Lawrence muttered back, predicatively. He moved his hand from Adam's cheek and wrapped it around his waist once more, again incasing his victim in a two-armed embrace. "Put your arms around me," he murmured, hardly able to believe what he was saying. He was actually _requesting_ that this little bastard touch him.

Earlier, Adam would have refused. He would have teased the older man, delaying fulfilling the demand for as long as possible, to get a little payback for all the suffering the detective had put _him_ through when he'd asked him... No, not asked him, _begged_ him for release.

But he wasn't that stupid.

The cuts and bruises Lawrence had delivered to his face in just the space of a few short minutes was enough to convince the delinquent that he did not want to make this man any angrier than he already was.

So, he lifted his exhausted arms from where they'd been resting on the floor and wrapped them around the older man's bare waist, in a similar way to how his companion was embracing him. Lawrence moaned and pressed his body hard against Adam's, his breathing growing even huskier than it already had been.

"Fuck..." he groaned into the younger man's bruised neck, feeling the unmistakable beginnings of an erection, both from him and from Adam.

The criminal hesitantly ran his hands up and down his lover's shuddering body, feeling, despite himself, somewhat happy that he at last had a little power. He didn't dare tease, or even stop his touchings for one second, but still... The fact that he _could_ have if he'd wanted to comforted him a little.

Lawrence was biting his neck a little, and running his fingers around his waist, but his efforts were somewhat dazed and feeble against this new feeling of his prisoner actually touching him back.

Adam moaned when he felt Lawrence's erection against his own. He wrapped his legs tightly around the older man's, wanting to get even closer to him than he already was. Lawrence did not protest, but simply hugged him back with his own legs, grunting as his erection rubbed slightly against Adam's.

Adam's bravery was growing, which was a little strange considering the fact that the pain in his bruises and the old wounds on his palms was growing, too, and he dared to move his aching fingers from the older man's waist to his chest, pressing them hard against one of his nipples.

He knew that his newfound boldness was probably caused by the fact that Lawrence's control, the control that he'd had over Adam since the first time they'd met, was very clearly caving. His kisses, the movement from of his tongue in Adam's mouth, got more and more desperate by the second, and he didn't even seem to notice Adam's roaming hands, getting bolder where they touched.

He chuckled softly into the kiss, mostly out of smugness, as he felt Lawrence shiver at the hands that touched his bare skin.

Shit. He actually had power over him.

He had _power_ over a rich, big-shot cop.

Just to test his theory, Adam ran his hand over Lawrence's back, allowed his fingers to dance over his body, loving every moan he could coax from him, every light shuddering he felt against his own pulsing, aching body.

"Still feel nothing for me?" he muttered, drawing his nails over his companion's waist.

Lawrence didn't answer, just traced his kisses down Adam's jaw line, across a spot where a fresh, throbbing bruise had formed, and grinned when he heard the delinquent's moan -- whether it was out of pain or pleasure, he wasn't sure, and he didn't really care, either -- until he reached his neck, where he bit down, slightly harder than was necessary, and he felt Adam's fingers stop in their tracks.

"Don't get a big head, Faulkner," Lawrence said, his voice low, and moved one of his hands to his prisoner's cheek, drawing his thumb across his bottom lip, which was quivering in the kid's desperate attempts to catch his breath.

He bent down and pressed his face against Adam's, claimed his lips as his, and by this, also made a standpoint.

_Little Adam,_ he thought as he wrapped his legs even more tightly around his lover's, mostly because the pressure felt so good against his almost-painful erection. The fact that he wanted Adam to feel the same way never occurred to him. Maybe he didn't want to admit it.

_Little Adam,_ he repeated in his head as he moved his hand down from Adam's cheek and locked him in an embrace again. _You have power over me. That is true._

_But you will never find out about it yourself._

_Because you're mine. You know nothing that I don't tell you._

_And I will never, ever, ever tell you this._

Another thing that Lawrence would never tell anyone, not even himself, something that he didn't even allow himself to think, was that the reason he didn't tell Adam about his power wasn't because he didn't want their roles in this little play to get switched.

The reason he didn't let Adam know about this was simple. Lawrence was terrified. Because if Adam was aware of his control, if he stopped being ruled by Lawrence's iron hand, he could easily get up and walk away.

If Adam was aware of his own iron hand and then used it to break free, Lawrence would know what he was missing. Life would've shown him one of the greatest things that ever existed, and then taken it away from him.

Lawrence wasn't sure how long this particular make-out session lasted. Their tactics were changing. Although they had started out just as rough and domineering at the beginning, their gestures had somehow lessoned over time, grown more gentle and intimate. Adam had settled his hands around the older man's back, and was making slow, enticing circles on those patches of skin with his thumbs, well aware of the goosebumps that his fingers brushed against.

Lawrence still had his arms wrapped his companion, embracing him, forcing their bodies closer together. Every now and then, he would dig his nails gently into the exposed flesh, coaxing a low moan out of the receiver's mouth, which for the most part was covered by his own, every time.

The feeling of Adam's bare chest pressed against his, his sweaty body shuddering softly as they kissed... Lawrence had never felt more aroused, more sedated, more... at _ease_ with the world than he did now.

They'd both given up on insulting one another. Now, they were concentrating only on returning each other's passionate kisses and touches. Neither had any idea why they were doing what they were doing, why, for the third time since they'd met, they were once again giving each other everything they had to offer. It didn't make sense, and it never would. It didn't matter.

There were no windows in the dim storage room, but by the time Lawrence finally pulled away from Adam, panting harder than he thought the human body was capable of, it felt around evening. The feeling was probably human instincts, the "built-in clock," as Jack called it. And, by now, both knew all too well about how far instincts could take someone.

Adam's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and his breathing was heavy and labored. His hands gripped Lawrence's body hard, as though silently begging him for the thing he refused to ask for out loud.

Not this time. He wouldn't cave to him this time.

Opening his agonized eyes and meeting those of his tormenter, Adam found himself staring directly into the harsh, familiar face that he loved and hated so much. Then, barely a moment later, Lawrence seemed to snap.

With a low grunt of frustration, he rapidly took his hands from Adam's waist, moving them down to his worn shorts, and began to tear at them, forcing them down and away within seconds, following with his equally-worn boxers.

The criminal let his hands drop from his lover's back and just lay there, far too aroused and anticipated to do anything else. Having gotten rid of Adam's burdens, Lawrence was now working furiously at removing his own lower-body clothing, struggling fiercely with the complicated design of his expensive uniform. Eventually, he managed to remove his pants and boxers also, and finally, the two men found themselves, for the first time, completely naked in each other's arms.

That position didn't last for long, however. It only took a few moments for Lawrence's lust and arousal to get the better of him, for him to push Adam over onto his stomach, for him to grip his hardened penis with his sweaty hand, for him to press his lips to the back of his lover's neck. After taking only a few moments to comfort the prisoner with gentle sucks at the neck and strokes to his increasing erection, the older man, for the third time since he'd known him, again forced himself into the man he loathed.

This time, the feeling of Lawrence's erected cock inside him was enough to make Adam cry out in agony, and for tears to come to his eyes as the older man's arousal crushed and grated against his insides.

"Shhh..." Lawrence murmured, his voice barely audible over the heavy lust and desire that hung in his accent. He gave Adam's penis a gentle, reassuring stroke, while at the same time, he roughly pulled out of him, then entered again, feeling the warm body beneath him convulse in anguish.

And, even though it hurt, even though it was the least-pleasant feeling he had ever experienced -- not like the other two times, where it had felt both agonizing _and_ arousing at the same time -- Adam obeyed, stilling his body and keeping his cries quiet and to a minimum.

Lawrence was fiercely dominating him.

And he loved it.

_God..._

Lawrence thrust into him again, and Adam bit down into his own tongue to keep from crying out in agony again.

Fuck, it hurt.

Fuck, he never wanted it to end. It still didn't make any sense, both that he liked the pain so damn much, and that he lived out the masochistic fantasies that he didn't even know he'd had with someone that he was fully aware of he hated.

Adam would never get this.

He would never get what Lawrence felt for him, even though he was pretty certain that it was the same feelings he had himself.

Another thrust. The taste of blood spread in Adam's mouth as he bit down on his tongue again and felt his climax approaching. Just like all of the other times, Lawrence had tortured him for so long before he had actually entered him that the actual act didn't take long.

As for Lawrence...

He hated Lawrence.

It was so strange, so tearing apart to hate someone you loved, at the same time as you wanted them so badly that it hurt, so badly that even though Lawrence was ridiculously close to him, inside of him, he wanted him closer. _Needed_ him closer.

_God,_ Adam thought again as he felt the hand on his erection increase its speed, torture him, caress him...

All other words had left him.

_God, God, God..._

And then, another one of Lawrence's strokes sent him toppling over the edge, and his mind went blank and stars flashed in front of his eyes as he spilled into the waiting hand beneath him, and he felt Lawrence push into him one last time before he emptied himself inside of him.

From somewhere, from a hidden space inside his spent brain, Adam found presence enough to lift his one hand from the floor and look at the old, infected wounds on his palms.

They'd been scraped open again. Hell, he'd gotten new ones. The blood was flowing from a long gash across his right thumb, and he saw a small but _oh_-so-sharp piece of glass on the floor where he'd had his hand seconds earlier.

He'd probably never been in a more "God"-ish situation in his entire life.

Adam was half-aware of Lawrence, panting just as hard as he was, climbing off him and plunking himself down just a few feet away. Taking a few moments to gather himself, the younger man moved his body into a sitting position, wincing as stabs of pain shot up his recently-violated backside. He felt extremely drained, too. Just like he had the other two times.

Lawrence was leaning against one of the walls of the storage room, his eyes closed as though he were sleeping, but the semi-alert position of his body as he rested showed clearly that he was still awake. Dimly, still groggy from his experience, Adam shifted his eyes over to his companion, too tired to hate him much anymore.

The smug cop had his now-covered legs spread out in front of him. He had already completely redressed, having done so before he'd settled himself against the wall. Adam, without really thinking, began to redress, as well, pulling his thin and ragged boxers and shorts over his aching personal elements. Lawrence started briefly when he heard his prisoner move, opening his eyes abruptly, but when he saw what he was doing, he simply lay back again, relaxing his body a little more. He obviously felt perfectly at ease.

It was only as Adam wearily pulled his tattered and worn shirt over his head to once again cover his body, that he saw the gun on Lawrence's waist, exposed above the slightly lopsided upper part of his replaced uniform, which usually would have hidden it, had the clothing been pulled down all the way.

It was hanging very loosely, essential for fast and easy use. One quick tug would dislodge it easily, Adam realized with a rush of excitement and spite. If he was able to get the weapon out of the other man's possession, he might actually have a chance to escape, gain the upper hand that he'd lacked ever since they'd met.

_He's ruthless, Adam. Do you really want to anger him any more than you already have?_

Slowly, carefully, trying not to look suspicious and simply like he was trying to readjust his body somewhat to better fit his shirt over his chest, Adam edged forward. Lawrence was still unmoving, his eyes closed and his body tranquil.

With the utmost care and stealth, the delinquent slowly reached his right hand out in front of him, getting ready to make the grab of his life. His biggest danger, besides the other man opening his eyes and seeing him, of course, was that Lawrence would instinctively shift or move as he grabbed the gun, hindering and possibly stopping Adam from getting it.

_He'll be angry, Adam. And what if you do get the gun? Do you honestly think you'll be able to use it? Lawrence is too clever to be won over by threats alone. If you really want to escape, you'll have to actually shoot him. And you can't do that._

Swiftly, suddenly, Adam grabbed. His fingers closed around the handle of the gun and he pulled, knowing full-well that he was taking a huge risk. Lawrence quickly opened his eyes as he felt the hand on his waist and the weapon being pulled from its holster, but already it was too late. The gun had come away easily, and the criminal had already drawn it away, out of the other man's reach.

**Dum dum dum… No smut, but still a cliffhanger, since… Well. Maybe I am a bit of a bitch after all… XD Anyway, please review! It's such a boost to read those kind words i occassionally get! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Hehe! Here we go, everyone! Another chapter! And it is very awesome, if I do say so myself, which I am, so review, damn it!**

**9. No Beautiful Awakening**

Adam's face was a fierce mixture of triumph and surprise, as though he couldn't believe his own luck, as he held the gun level with the older man's face, finally having gained the upper hand he'd so desperately wanted. His finger was poised on the trigger, the button that would decide his victim's fate.

Lawrence stared coldly back at the younger man, his face expressionless. He'd been afraid that something like this would happen, those other two times when he'd violated the kid. But now, he'd let his guard down, and he was helpless. He was completely at Adam's mercy. Should the criminal choose to kill him...

"You and I both know that you don't have the courage to pull that trigger, Faulkner," Lawrence said quietly, saying the words without really thinking about them. "You've broken into so many houses, robbed so many people, and yet you've _never_ killed anyone. I don't think you have the guts to, quite frankly."

The detective smirked inwardly as he gauged the look of frustration and fear on his companion's face, mingling with triumph. Lawrence knew, that if their situations had been reversed, he would not have hesitated to shoot. He had killed before, after all. Many times. When chasing down armed criminals was how you made your living, you ended up doing a lot of killing.

But Adam... He was somehow different. His eyes, though they burned with a hatred and jealousy that Lawrence himself was all-too aware of, didn't have the tainted and infected air about them as anyone who was forced to murder's eyes did.

He wouldn't shoot him, Lawrence knew that. He couldn't. Already the gun was shaking in Adam's hand and his eyes had lost that arrogant glint of achievement. He looked at the weapon, not wanting to see the look of hatred in the younger man's eyes. Adam looked at it, too, feeling unshed tears beginning to blur his vision.

_Why?_ Why couldn't he do it? If he just shot that bastard, right here, right now, no one would ever know. He could be far, far away by the time anyone found the body. And besides, it wasn't affection that was stopping him from pulling the trigger. He hated Lawrence. He hated him with every still-working bone in his body.

And yet, he still couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. No matter how much he hated this person, no matter what dishonorable things he'd done in the past, he would never take another life. Never.

The deadly weapon trembled for a moment, then fell to the hard floor with a dull _thud_. Adam lifted his gaze again, locking eyes with the man he hated so much. He didn't look at all surprised by what his prisoner had done. On the contrary, he looked like he'd been expecting it.

Adam suppressed a grunt of pain as Lawrence, smirking now, roughly pushed the delinquent onto his stomach, yanked his hands behind his back, and cuffed them. He was breathing hard, as though he'd just run a long distance, and it was taking every bit of willpower he had to keep the tears from running down his face.

"I spared you," Adam hissed as the older man effortlessly dragged him to his feet, straightening his shirt for him slightly as he did so. He said it in an attempt to regain some of his lost dignity and pride, but it didn't work.

"You didn't have the balls to do it, Faulkner," Lawrence murmured back, as he began to lead the younger man up the stairs and towards the door that they'd both come through. "You tried and you failed. You should just stick to burglary."

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Adam walked on wobbly legs down the path that he vaguely remembered taking when he'd made his escape. Lawrence had called Jack, and the desk boy was waiting in another police car a few blocks away. The detective had no idea why he hadn't wanted to drive the kid back himself in the car that he'd taken. Maybe the stunt he'd pulled with the gun had made Lawrence respect and fear his abilities a little more.

It didn't matter how slowly they walked, either. Adam seemed too tired to walk overly fast. Lawrence didn't really mind that so much. He wasn't in the mood to walk quickly, either, after what the two of them had done in that storage room. Jack may have been annoying and inexperienced, but he was lazy, too, and he could wait forever. For all Lawrence knew, the young cop might have fallen asleep in the front seat of his car while waiting for them.

Adam's face burned slightly as for the second time in under twenty four hours, he was forced to walk around in public, handcuffed and defeated. Again, there weren't many people out, for which he was grateful, but those who were out watched with interest as he passed, Lawrence still gripping his shoulder.

God, he was tired. So fucking tired.

Adam couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this. He felt like his insides were on fire, he felt like it was a hundred-million degrees as the hot sweat ran down his burning face, mingling with the dried blood there. And, worst of all, he felt like his knees were supporting over ten times his own weight. He was too heavy for them. It was as though he were walking up a steep, steep hill. His legs just wouldn't...

Lawrence grunted slightly in surprise as his prisoner suddenly fell to his knees on the ground below him. Still gripping the younger man's arm, he was forced down with him onto the hard pavement. Adam was panting, as though he'd just run a very long marathon. His pale face looked white in the dim, fading light of the setting sun, and his eyes were glazed, like he wasn't really seeing anything around him.

"Faulkner?" Lawrence said, trying to keep the concern out of his voice. A few onlookers were still watching, but he ignored them, focusing only on the man in front of him.

"Faulkner?" he said again, shaking him slightly.

Adam started from the movement and his eyes opened wide, though they were still glazed and empty-looking. He gasped once, as though he were having trouble breathing. Lawrence wondered if the kid was faking it, though he doubted it. He knew that some captured criminals tried to employ this kind of trick while they were still out in the open, in the hopes that their captors would un-cuff them. Lawrence wouldn't do that. The little shit could have been rolling around in his own blood and vomit, and he still wouldn't have taken the handcuffs off.

Suddenly, Adam gave a violent lurch. His body shuddered as he did, making a strange rippling sensation along Lawrence's fingers, which he still had on the young delinquent's left shoulder. He lurched again, almost retching this time, and the older man quickly pulled his hand away as he realized what his unfortunate victim was about to do.

Some people vomited rather delicately. Anorexic supermodels almost did it gracefully, probably causing in their actions at least three chronic perverts to jack off to them every night. Some people did it without any real meaning. Lawrence himself was like this. On the few occasions when he actually did vomit -- sometimes if he'd drunk too much at a cop party or other times if he had caught a passing virus -- he did it indifferently, as dignifiedly as he could. Adam, on the other hand... He was the other kind of vomiter.

As Lawrence watched, the reluctant sympathy he felt well-hidden behind his cold, blue eyes, Adam, retching and shuddering horribly, gracelessly brought up everything he'd eaten in the last few days, which didn't seem to be much by the looks of it, along with some more painful concoctions, such as stomach acid.

It looked just like any other pile of entrails Lawrence had seen before, not that he'd seen many, but somehow... Well, it was Adam. He'd fucked the guy three times, as much as he hated to admit it. He thought the kid was the cutest thing on the entire planet, even though he loathed him. It would have hurt his pride quite a lot if the criminal had thrown up because of _him_.

Adam gasped again, emptying the last of his burden onto the gratified pavement, then slumped forward slightly, completely drained. Lawrence grabbed him around the shoulders with both his hands, to stop him from falling head-first into his own sick. Grunting in dissatisfaction at the bound, near-unconscious man in his arms, Lawrence gingerly lifted one hand, drew out his cell phone from a side-pocket, and dialed.

Almost immediately, Jack's eager voice answered. He hadn't been sleeping, after all.

"Moshi-moshi, Lawrence. What's taking so long?" he said good-naturedly into the phone, and the older man scowled.

"Jack, I need you to drive down to Shannon Street. About halfway," Lawrence said tonelessly. Before Jack could protest, he quickly added: "I've still got Faulkner, but he's in pretty bad shape. He's just emptied out the contents of his stomach onto the road. He's almost unconscious. He won't be able to walk. Just get down here, and hurry up."

He hung up the phone before Jack could reply and put it away again, turning his attention back to the silent young man, still half-asleep in his arms.

_Fuck, he's still so cute when he's asleep._

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With Jack's help, Lawrence managed to lift the now-unconscious man into the back of the police car. He'd passed out shortly after his captor had made the call, his heavy eyelids just unable to stay open anymore.

He was so light.

He was far too skinny, Lawrence decided, staring down at the prisoner, whose head was resting against his buckled up seatbelt as he slept. _He never eats. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe he _is_ on drugs._

"He's a pretty good-looking guy, isn't he?" Jack said appreciatively, sitting beside his superior on the pavement while staring at Adam's motionless figure.

"Wh-What?!" Lawrence tore his eyes away from the younger man and stared at his coworker, panic beginning to rise in his throat. Did he know?

"He's a fucking _man_, Jack," Lawrence said, trying to sound contemptuous. "He's, like, twenty-something years old! He's barely an adult!"

Jack looked up sharply, his face flushing with embarrassment.

"Hey, I was just stating an observation, Lawrence," he said defensibly. "No need to get a cork up your ass about it. Guys _can_ compliment other guys, you know."

Lawrence shrugged and turned away, shutting the backdoor of the car and obscuring the sleeping man's "good-looking" face.

_Yes, Jack, guys _can_ compliment other guys,_ the detective thought bitterly as he got up and sat in the front-passenger seat of the car, his associate sitting down beside him and starting up the engine as he did so. _But what about fucking them multiple times just because of random impulses? Is that okay, too?_

Neither said anything as Jack drove, rather inexpertly, Lawrence thought, down the not-very-crowded roads. It was almost nighttime now, with the sun just a tiny speck in the west. It was quiet, almost peaceful, at this time.

About halfway back to the station, there was a muffled grunt from the back seat of the car. Lawrence and Jack looked in the rear-view mirror to see Adam, awake now, blinking furiously as his brain attempted to catch up with his situation. He stared at his companions, expressionless, and both immediately averted their gazes, almost guiltily.

What happened next, Lawrence would always remember. After all, the kind of pleading he was used to was from desperate criminals, begging for their freedom... Or, from one particular criminal, a plead for release. But _this_... He was not used to this. He'd never thought he'd fall into such a situation, even though such things did happen, and he'd been trained for them.

Adam was making strange, husky gurgling noises from the back of his throat, writhing in his seat as he did so. He was struggling furiously against the handcuffs that still bound him and kicking weakly with his feet. Jack stopped the car without having to be told, and both he and Lawrence got out, walking around to the back passenger's door and opening it. They didn't fear escape. For one thing, Adam was buckled up and shackled, which would have stopped just about anyone at the best of times. And for another...

"Do you think he needs to throw up again?" Jack asked uncertainly, peaking from behind his superior's shoulder.

Lawrence frowned and moved his right hand up to the younger man's sweating face, trying to feel for a fever. Adam sighed in pleasure as the cool hand touched his burning forehead, and turned his head slightly to look at him.

"Faulkner?" Lawrence asked in a low tone, wanting to remove his hand but finding he was unable to. "What's wrong?"

Adam opened his mouth slightly in an attempt to answer the question, but nothing came out except a low grunt. He licked his parched lips with his equally-parched tongue and tried again. Finally, after several groans and gasps, he managed to say:

"W-Water... P-Please..."

Lawrence quickly caught his breath as he realized, with a reluctant stab of guilt, just how dehydrated the kid really was. His eyes were tired and empty-looking, his lips were cracked and dry, his face was pale as a sheet, and fuck... He was burning. Slowly, the older man pulled his hand away from the sufferer's head and got to his feet.

Leaving Jack to watch him, Lawrence went back to the front of the car, and reached into the glove box through the open door. He found a bottle of water there almost straight away. He had no idea how old it was, but it felt cool and refreshing against his hand as he lifted it out.

Making his way back to the other two, Lawrence slowly knelt down and opened the bottle. Adam's eyes widened slightly, as though he were actually surprised that his companion was responding to his plea.

More gently than he would have liked in front of Jack, Lawrence carefully lifted the bottle to the younger man's lips and tilted it so that the water ran into the delinquent's grateful mouth. Quite a lot of it splashed onto the drinker's shirt as he sucked hungrily from the bottle, but he didn't seem to care.

It reminded Lawrence somewhat of when he'd fed Diana as a baby. He hadn't done so very often. Usually, Allison took care of her, him being so busy and all. Of course, the reason the detective was doing it _for_ Adam was because he was still unable to use his hands. There was no way he'd be letting him do it himself, no matter what.

All-too-quickly, Adam had completely drained the bottle. He gasped as the last few drops disappeared down his throat and leant back in his seat, breathing hard.

"Better?" Lawrence asked, trying to sound cold.

Adam opened his eyes and looked wearily at him, a bit of color returning to his face as he did so.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice a little stronger now. "Thanks."

"_Thanks..."_ Damn it... Why had Adam had to say that? Maybe if he hadn't... If he hadn't acted so grateful, or even acknowledged what his captor had done for him... Maybe Lawrence wouldn't have felt so... _weird_ about it.

Of all the words Adam could have said... Besides, he'd never said them to him before. Hell, Lawrence could barely remember _anyone_ saying "thanks" to him in the last few years. Not with that much meaning, anyway. Adam had no reason to be thankful to him. The detective had raped him, _three_ times, beaten the shit out of him, mocked him, talked down to him... Fuck, he'd _tormented_ him.

And, not for the first time since he'd met him, Lawrence actually felt guilty.

**Be sure to review if you like it. It encourages me. Not that I'll stop writing either way, but still!**


	10. Chapter 10

**YAY! Another update! And I've gotten some reviews lately, which made me _very _happy, so thanks a lot! And now, of course, I can only assume that you ask yourself what sneaky business our dear little Adam has really been up to...**

**10. What Lies Beneath**

Lawrence sat in his office chair, dazed and vacant. Adam was now safely locked up in a cell, a much higher security one than the room he'd escaped from. He hadn't been in very good shape when he'd been put there. When they'd reached the station, the kid had been so weary and shaken, Lawrence and Jack had had to support him between them, all the way to his cell. Once there, Adam had collapsed, exhausted, onto the hard bed of the room, not even waiting for either of his companions to remove his handcuffs.

Lawrence had been sitting there, thinking of Adam, for the last three hours. He'd been thinking about when he'd met him for the first time in that deserted alley, about the "interrogation" that had taken place at this very station, about how angry he'd been when he had escaped, about how the kid had been unable to shoot him... And, most of all, he was thinking about the three times he and Adam had...

"Fuck..."

Wearily, Lawrence raked a hand through his sweaty hair. Try as he might, he just couldn't stop thinking about him. He was worried about him. The young delinquent's face had been deathly pale when he'd last seen him, huddled under the thin sheets of the jail bed, his face still bruised and bleeding from the harsh reunion he'd had with his lover.

And, when he'd un-cuffed him, Lawrence had noticed even more cuts on the unfortunate kid's hands, so bad- and painful-looking that he'd been inclined to point out the basic first-aid kit in one of the draws in the cell, though he'd known that Adam had been too tired to comprehend him.

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_Jesus Christ,_ Lawrence thought, as he fidgeted with the tips of his cards. There was no better way to put it.

Jesus Christ.

This was senseless. He'd been to his coworkers' funerals, he'd questioned husbands about why they'd killed their wives with a hammer, he'd tried to explain to mothers, dissolved in tears, why he'd had to blow the head off of their sons.

He'd lived his life in a bad atmosphere.

But _words_ could not describe a New York police station at night.

He and Jack were the only ones left. The others had gone home, to their families and their children, to the lives they had outside of the building. Lawrence had always believed that. Cops, doctors, firemen -- they all had two different lives. They had one life in either misery or overwhelming happiness. It was different every day. It was a life with colleagues that they didn't like that much, a life where desperate people needed their help. And they gave them that. Sometimes.

But at the same time, way too rarely.

And they had a life where they got to be human. They never thought about their other lives when they got to live that. Why would they? Now, they were in their other life, right then they got to be husbands, fathers, friends.

They didn't have to think about a prisoner in a cell who was really just like any other prisoner, but at the same time, so different, so terribly different. Different in a way that had woken Lawrence, woken him from his emotional numbness in an _oh_-how rude way.

Lawrence sighed and laid his cards down on the table.

"Gin."

Jack muttered something and gathered the cards up.

It was three o'clock AM. Neither one of them wanted to play cards, and now, they seemed to have crossed the line where they didn't even have the energy to pretend that they wanted to do anything, so Jack left the cards in a stack on the table. Lawrence looked at the wall next to him. Adam was on the other side, and he was tired, he was hurt, he was...

"You think he's okay?" he asked, beckoning vaguely to the wall. Jack looked at the indicated space.

"Faulkner?"

Lawrence nodded.

"He'll live," the desk boy said doubtlessly. "He might not stand on the bunk and sing "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover," but he'll live."

Lawrence smiled wearily.

"That's a pretty calm song, at least, isn't it?"

"Well, he'll definitely not pull off "Metallica,"" Jack said, and his coworker offered him a tired chuckle in return.

The next second, the sleepy, dull mood in the room was broken by their boss, Vincent Grey, and old, wizened-looking man that no one really liked, who appeared in the doorway. Jack raised his eyebrows lazily, and Lawrence stiffened, trying not to let his emotions show too clearly on his face.

"Good, you're both here," Grey said, his usual, confused police-features more visibly mingling in his wrinkles than usual. "You're both on Faulkner, right?"

Jack made a grunting of approval and rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes.

"Why? Did he escape again?"

"No," the superior said, "but we've talked to some new witnesses. Follow me to my office, please."

Lawrence and Jack exchanged a look, a look that every cop knew, even though no one really knew what it meant, and got up from their uncomfortable chairs.

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Lawrence walked through the hall with Jack next to him.

_You're both on Faulkner, right?_

Vincent Grey. Silly old man.

Asking Lawrence if he was on Adam. As if he'd been thinking about anything but Adam in the past twenty-four hours.

The old man opened up the black door to his office -- just like all the other times Lawrence had been in there, he felt a twang of irritation at the thought that this was the only office in the station that was fancier than his own -- and sat down behind the overloaded desk.

"Sit down, if you will," Grey said, gesturing to two empty chairs that at least looked more comfortable than the ones Jack and Lawrence had been sitting on before, and they obeyed. Lawrence found himself beginning to feel nervous.

_We've talked to some new witnesses._

_We've talked to some people that Adam has hurt. We've talked to some new people that can lock Adam up, lock him up so tightly not even you will be able to help him, Lawrence._

It couldn't happen_. Couldn't._

"What about Faulkner?" he finally asked, almost managing to sound like he only cared about his paycheck. Grey sighed and leant back in his chair.

"This is the deal," he said slowly, seriously. "There's a chance Faulkner'll only get a few years instead of the ten he deserves."

Lawrence almost laughed with relief, but Jack scoffed and looked condescendingly at his boss.

"_Lawrence_ will be at the trial," he said, as though that changed everything. Grey smiled weakly.

"I know. But the thing is that the witnesses we've been talking to tossed Faulkner into the heavens. You know why?"

Lawrence and Jack shook their heads, and Grey leant forward again.

"He didn't raid those houses for his own profit," he said in almost a whisper, as if they were discussing a legend, a myth, or a God. "Every penny he got his hands own, _every_ royalty for _every_ damn little thing he stole, he gave to poorer families."

Jack's brows were lazily raised again, Grey looked among his papers and Lawrence's brain did its best to absorb this information.

No.

Please, no.

He couldn't have been so wrong. He couldn't have been so heartless.

"What do you mean?" Jack asked, leaning slightly forward in his own chair. Grey looked at one of his papers and quoted it with his brows furrowed.

""You see the TV over there?"" he said, his voice mechanical. ""I wouldn't have that if it wasn't for Adam. He bought all the food in our fridge, too. He's the kindest man I've ever met.""

He put the paper down.

"An unemployed mother with three kids who lived in a little shit-hole in Bronx said that," he said plainly. "And God knows how many more there are who've said similar things. He's still broken into people's houses, but he doesn't have an apartment of his own, no job. The only thing he seems to have is the clothes on his back. And his lawyer -- if he gets one -- will definitely use that against us."

Jack chuckled and drew his hand over his rough chin.

"Seriously? The kid's a Robin Hood of the twenty-first century?" Grey smiled tiredly again.

"So it would seem."

So it would seem.

So it was.

Of course it was. Lawrence had been blind not to see it, but he saw it all now, he saw all the blinking warning signs that he'd seen before but that he'd chosen to ignore.

It had all been so obvious. He saw Adam's gaping wallet -- _he bought all the food_ -- his emaciated, starving body -- _in our fridge, too_ -- the black stains of mud on his skin, his dirty hair -- _he's the kindest man_ -- his worn shoes, his torn clothes -- _I've ever met_.

The kindest man I've ever met.

Of course. _Of course_ Adam would do something like that with his money. He'd never do anything else, because he was a good person, underneath the sarcasms, the roughness. Underneath that shell of a bitter, homeless, neglected little kid, there was such a terribly good, terribly helpful person.

A good person. A good person that Lawrence had beaten half to death.

The guilt ate away at his stomach, ate him up from the inside out.

He didn't even wait for Grey to say anything else. He just stood up and left the room, absorbed in his own agonizing thoughts.

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It was these thoughts, mainly, that finally made Lawrence get to his feet, roughly pushing his chair back and discarding his gun as he did so. He would go and visit Adam. Just to see how he was, to bandage up some of the wounds on the criminal's hands and face. He owed him that much, after all.

**AW! Lawrence is so guilty... And may ask if you're guessing for smut in the next chapter? Ah, you know me... XD And are you also guessing that I want you to review? Once again, it's what I do!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Yay! Another chapter, ready for posting! And in this chapter, Lawrence is actually little NICE! Very nice, by this Lawrence's standards, in fact! Don't worry, though, because there's still hot making out involved!**

**11. Learning Anew**

Before he went down to Adam's cell, the detective made a quick and stealthy stop in the security room, the place where all of the activity in the jail cells was monitored. The man operating the surveillance cameras was all too happy to leave andf let the "almighty" Lawrence take over his work, even though he didn't actually work in that department, and it didn't take long for the older man to disable the camera in Adam's cell, though he was forced to look briefly at him as he did so.

Even on the blurry, black and white screen, there was no mistaking the prisoner's tiredness. He hadn't moved from the bed since the eight hours he'd been in there, and by the way he was lying, it was obvious that his sleep was deep and dreamless.

Once he'd disabled the camera and replaced it expertly with that of an empty cell so that if anyone walked in to examine the security, nothing would seem amiss, Lawrence made his way back the way he'd come, crossing through to the high-security cells by a backdoor to avoid confrontation. He wasn't in the mood to see Jack, or any of his coworkers, at the moment.

Once he'd unlocked the door to Adam's cell, entered and then relocked it -- a precaution he'd been taught to take since his earliest police-training days -- Lawrence finally felt at ease, even though the younger man looked awful in his present state. By _God_, he looked awful.

He was lying, his body curled into a half-ball, his breathing coming in fast, deep gasps as he slept. The bruises and cuts showed clearly and painfully on his exhausted face, and his hands, which were wrapped wearily around himself for warmth, were horribly infected with grime and dirt.

Without really thinking, Lawrence crossed to the other side of the small cell and opened one of the sets of draws, the only other piece of furniture in the room besides the bed, basin, and toilet, and took out the basic first-aid kit he'd pointed out to Adam earlier.

Making his way over to the sleeping man, Lawrence lifted the top off the kit and examined it. It really was basic. Aside from a few cheap-looking band-aids and bandages, there was some aspirin, some weak pain-relievers, a metal glass, a small face-cloth, some cotton balls, and a small bottle of disinfectant. It wasn't much. But it _would_ do. For the moment, at least.

Lawrence filled the metal glass with water from the basin tap, set it beside him on the floor, then, very gently, pulled back the sheets that were covering Adam. The prisoner whimpered weakly as his body was exposed more to the cold, and he shifted slightly in his sleep.

Watching him, his face flushing in a way that made him glad he'd disabled the room's security camera, Lawrence lightly pulled the thin shirt from Adam's body, lifting it up over his head and tossing it a few feet away.

The detective's face went even redder when he caught a glimpse, the first full-glimpse he'd ever really had, of Adam's pale, slender body. Just like his face, it was perfect, despite the many bruises that Lawrence had apparently delivered there, too. His exposed chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed, goosebumps rising on his flesh at the increasing exposure.

Gritting his teeth in a hopeless attempt to stop the slow but unmistakable arousal that was beginning to build up in his body, Lawrence carefully poured some of the water from the metal glass onto one of the cotton balls, and lifted it to Adam's bruised chin. He had hit him so much, raising injuries all over his face and even on his body, that the older man found it difficult to find a priority to work with. But the wound on his chin looked the most painful, other than the ones on his hands, which Lawrence wanted to leave for the moment.

Adam's eyes opened abruptly the moment the soft wool was pressed to his face. Blearily, he stared up at his imprisoner, his face slowly changing from a look of tiredness and confusion to... just plain tiredness. Lawrence ignored this and continued padding with the cotton ball, feeling the soft and tender skin under his fingers.

The criminal gave a low grunt of pain as his companion brushed an extra-sensitive spot on his bruised flesh, and Lawrence stopped, his guilt not allowing him to go any further. He was hurting him. He didn't want that. He wanted to make Adam better, to take away the pain he'd inflicted on him.

Releasing his hold on the now-red-stained cotton ball, so that it rolled slowly off the bed and onto the floor, Lawrence gingerly moved so that his mouth was right up to the wound on Adam's chin. As gently as he could, he dug his teeth into the soft and tender skin, running his tongue over it slightly, as well. The injured man moaned slightly from the contact, his infected hands gripping the sides of the hard bed.

Encouraged, Lawrence moved so that he was completely on top of his companion, stopping first to remove the irritating shirt-like top of his uniform. Once again, both men were pressed hard against each other, their bare chests sending shivers up each other's spines. Lawrence continued to kiss Adam, getting a little rougher, but overall still remaining soft and gentle. The younger man responded by wrapping his legs around his lover's, grunting as this brought their bodies even closer together.

Once again, Lawrence was forced to realize that no time was like the other. Because the first thought that came to him was the same one as that time in the interrogation room, when Adam's body had hit the concrete wall and he had grunted in a way that for some reason made Lawrence snap like a twig. Just like everything else Adam did.

_  
This isn't like the last time. Not like the last time at all_.

It wasn't just different from the last time. It was different from _all_ the other times. Because now... Lawrence almost cursed out loud when he realized it. Because now, he actually _cared_ about Adam. Every whimper of pain that he forced out of the kid was a stab in the that heart he'd forgotten he'd had, which he'd been very pleased with. But now... He actually cared about him.

He cared about the fact that Adam sucked in a sharp breath when the older man ran his hand down his stomach and grazed over a broken rib. It was important. Adam was important. His entire pale, shivering existence was important. He was the most important thing in his life. He was _everything_.

And it wasn't like the other times.

Lawrence's teeth didn't draw blood from Adam's bottom lip. His nails didn't claw. He didn't want to torture him. He cared about the one he kissed for the first time in what seemed like forever. It wasn't just about his own arousal; it was about Adam, too. Because he was so damn disgustingly important.

Now, it was just him and Adam, and they weren't rough. It was just soft, hungry lips that were pushed together, tasting each other, again, again, again... More, God, please, more...

Finally, Lawrence managed to tear away from Adam's mouth and look into his eyes. The criminal's gaze was immediately filled with pure surrender. Almost despair.

"Oh, dear God," he moaned, and sighed. "Lawrence, I..."

"Adam," Lawrence cut him off, bringing his finger up to the younger man's flushed lips, causing him to shut up in a heartbeat.

_Jesus_, Lawrence thought as he moved his hand to Adam's cheek. _He thinks I'll torture him again. Was I really that rough on him?_

_  
Is that weird to you?_ the voice in his head asked dryly.

Lawrence ignored it. Instead, he brought his mouth back to the place on his lover's jaw line, where the bruise was still showing clearly, and pressed his lips to it, ran his tongue over it again. Adam moaned, his aching body lurching at the touch.

"Lawrence..." he said, his voice a slurred mumbling. "I can't do it... Not again... I..."

"Adam," Lawrence repeated before he realized what he'd said. Twice. "Faulkner, I mean. I won't..."

He brought his hand up to Adam's dark, damp hair, felt the locks caress his palm.

_  
He's... He's so beautiful..._

He lowered his face and kissed Adam's upper lip, tasted the saltiness from the dried blood that had run down from his nose and then moved upwards, moved his lover's bangs aside to kiss a place on his forehead where he'd struck way too many times, where a bruise shone angrily in a red shade of purple.

Adam moaned again and lifted his hand up to the older man's hair. Lawrence moved down to the delinquent's neck, to the soft skin he already knew so well and kissed the bruises there, too, and it was still just the soft pressure of his lips and occasional scraping with his teeth, but it was also gentle, also soft, and all together, something completely new.

Lawrence had no idea what he would have done if he had not been interrupted. Perhaps he would have gone on forever, slowly and gently kissing and touching, his mind only half-focused on his own arousal. But it wasn't long before Adam began to become restless, shifting and moaning a lot more than a satisfied person should. So, eventually, Lawrence stopped his maneuvers, and lifted himself up so that he was staring directly into his shivering companion's eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, the huskiness of his voice surprising even him.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth and fists clenched. The hand he had in his tormenter's hair shook slightly, then fell limp against the bed. His face was so red, not just from the bruises and drying blood, but also from the serious blushing he was unable to stop himself from emitting.

Gently, Lawrence brought his hand from Adam's hair to once again caress and stroke his enflamed cheek, almost feeling shocked at how hot it felt. The younger man gasped as the cool skin brushed across his burning face, and, without any warning, lifted his right hand -- it wasn't as badly cut as his left -- and seized the detective's free hand, the one he'd been using to fondle his lover's waist, gripping it hard.

Lawrence was surprised, but he did nothing to stop his companion, as he roughly and desperately began forcing the captured hand down his body and towards his torn shorts.

"What the fuck..." Adam muttered in an undertone, as though disgusted at himself for what he was doing. But he didn't stop.

With one last tortured gasp, the delinquent pushed his and Lawrence's hands down, under his shorts and boxers, and groaned in blissful pleasure when his pulsing erection was finally given warm contact. Lawrence grunted, staring into Adam's closed eyes. He hadn't expected things to go this far. He'd only really intended to give the kid some... reassurance.

Carefully, not wanting to cause his lover any more displeasure than he already had, the older man made a long, satisfying stroke against Adam's rapidly-growing erection. The criminal moaned, his body lurching and his own hand falling limp on top of Lawrence's active one.

"Fucking hell, Faulkner..." Lawrence muttered, unable to keep the lust out of his voice. He moved so that his mouth was once again against Adam's bruised neck and began to kiss and suck at it, though harder and with a lot more desire this time. He continued delivering long, rough strokes to the trembling cock in his hand, for once not caring that he was satisfying his prisoner without making him suffer first. He didn't _want_ to make him suffer. He wanted to make him happy. He wanted to apologize to him, even if he couldn't do so in words.

But in some way, Lawrence thought, pleased as he felt Adam shudder under his touch, this non-verbal way seemed to work out pretty nicely, too. Plus, he knew Adam well enough by now to know that he would never even _listen_ to him if he said he was sorry with something other than kisses, touches, and his warm, steady hand on his victim's erection.

_Little Adam._

Lawrence had already learned to love the feeling of those two words rolling off his tongue.

Little Adam. So stubborn, so proud, so stupid, so annoying. And, at the same time...

Fuck. The kid was wonderful.

Lawrence increased the speed of his hand when he heard Adam grunt and felt him arch his back slightly, and he found himself just as pleased at seeing Adam squeeze his eyes shut and bury the nails of his left hand in his shoulder as he had been by seeing Adam writhe underneath him in lustful pain while pleading him for release.

The only difference was that now he didn't feel as insane.

**Hehe... Yeah, I always end on cliffhangers. Review if you like it! And if you don't like it, too. XD**


	12. Chapter 12

**Blah, it's been forever… Ah, well, I'm sure you could stand it. If you all endured Saw, I'm sure a lengthy update seems like nothing! Anyway, I'm still sorry, and I still felt like I should make it up to my reviewers (yes, the ones who review after reading get VIP-treatment) by a long, smutty chapter!**

**12. Beyond My Control**

"Lawrence..." Adam mumbled, and grabbed the older man's hair, pulling his mouth away from his neck and capturingf his lips in a fervent kiss, and by this, keeping the detective from telling him to shut up, even though they both probably knew that he wouldn't do that, even if he could.

Lawrence kept his hand-job at a steady pace -- didn't speed up and showed no inftention of stopping -- as his other hand roamed Adam's exposed upper body, brushed over his bruises, and his tongue plundered his mouth, until he broke the kiss and went back down to his neck. Adam moaned softly again, and Lawrence felt his old, sadistic self grin against the criminal's naked skin.

But it was a surprisingly small part of him that was like that now. He didn't want to hurt Adam. Hell, he didn't even want to dominate him. He felt this strange, warm feeling that spread in his abdomen and mixed with the arousal, a feeling that loved every shiver he could coax out of Adam, despite the fact that he was still disturbingly hot. It was satisfaction, yes, but... A completely different kind.

A few minutes later -- or a few decades, neither knew which -- Adam, his good hand still resting atop Lawrence's enticing one, still working on his increasing erection, began to breath faster, his body shaking as it was forced to live through this semi-orgasm. He was bucking himself repeatedly against his lover, making no attempt to smother his gasps and whimpers of pleasure. His right hand was gripping Lawrence's active one so hard, the older man feared he might cut off the circulation.

After a couple of agonizing seconds, seconds in which Lawrence, his mouth still to the criminal's neck but no longer kissing it, struggled to restrain his companion while using only one hand, Adam finally calmed down. He collapsed against the bed, his eyes squeezed shut and his breathing hard and forced. Once he was sure that he wouldn't start up again, Lawrence slowly lifted himself so that he was mouth to mouth with the delinquent, who opened his eyes reluctantly to stare in mingled fear and despair at his imprisoner.

Gently, Lawrence moved his free hand from where it had been on Adam's chest, and rested it on his neck, making tiny circles around the bare skin.

"Wow... What the hell was that, Faulkner?" he asked, trying not to smile.

Adam didn't answer him, but simply forced the other man's head down with his weaker hand, connecting their lips in another desperate kiss.

Lawrence was surprised at how frantic and eager the kid's gestures were. He was gripping a large chunk of the detective's hair, running his fingers through it and making it even messier than it already had been. Lawrence was responding by moving his exposed hand from Adam's neck to his chest, once again fondling and stroking his hardened nipples. He'd momentarily given up on the hand-job, since he wasn't sure how his companion would react if he made any sudden contact with his steadily-growing erection.

Finally, after attacking each other mouths with their own for well-over a minute, the two pulled away from each other, breathing hard. Adam let his hand drop from Lawrence's ruffled hair and moved it around to his waist, instead, embracing him tightly.

"What was that, Faulkner?" Lawrence asked again, trying to make his voice sound soothing and understanding.

Adam looked up at the older man's face, his cheeks flushing and his teeth set. Finally, he opened his mouth and muttered:

"I want you to fuck me."

Lawrence jolted in surprise. The words were so plain, so simple, so... pleading. It wasn't unlike that time in that dark alley, only this time, he hadn't been forced to say the words.

_Again? He wants you to fuck him_ again? _How perverted can one man be?_

Lawrence stared down, into Adam's desperate face, and felt his own erection, which he'd been struggling to control since he'd first begun this, pulse slightly in anticipation.

_Oh, of course you_ want _to do it, don't you, Lawrence? Isn't three times enough for one day? Aren't you sick of him yet?_

Regretfully, hating himself, Lawrence slowly shook his head. His stomach lurched, but not as much as his suffering cock.

"Faulkner, you have broken ribs, bruised ribs... And you're tired. Besides..." Here he smiled slightly, attempting to put some humor into the situation. "Besides, I don't think your ass could take another penetration. Not today, anyway."

The look on Adam's face at these words almost tore the detective's heart -- the heart he hadn't even know he'd had -- apart. Gasping, his arousal obviously causing him great suffering, the criminal forced himself to speak calmly.

"I'm okay. It doesn't hurt. My head and hands hurt the most, but my body's honestly fine."

At these words, Lawrence was tempted to squeeze or push against the kid's ribs, just as he had with his hands in the interrogation room earlier, so as to make him moan and shudder in pain, to prove that he was lying when he said that his body wasn't hurting. But he couldn't. He didn't want to hurt him anymore.

"You're _not_ okay, Faulkner," Lawrence said firmly, trying to keep the lust out of his own voice. "You're fucking exhausted. And battered. And sick. I only came in here to check on you, and I let things go a lot further than I should have."

Adam gripped his lover's waist with his deeply-infected hand, pleadingly.

"Lawrence, please..." he begged in a husky whimper. "Do it for me. I know it sounds fucked, but I _like_ having you inside me. I _like_ feeling your... You... tearing my fucking insides apart."

_I really am sick to get turned on by him saying that,_ Lawrence thought disgustedly, as he suppressed a moan with difficulty. _If a sex-phone-line ever had someone say that, I doubt they'd be getting any awards._

"I want to..." he muttered. "God, Faulkner. There's nothing in the world I would like more right now than to... God."

Why couldn't he even finish the sentence? Was he that much of a wuss? _I want to fuck you, Adam. There's nothing in the world I would like more right now than to fuck you._

"Then why don't you?" Adam demanded, on the verge of tears. His erection was still shuddering and pulsing in Lawrence's limp hand, but neither paid it any attention. Not directly, at least. "I want you to do it, you want to do it. It hurt the last three times, too, but we still enjoyed it, didn't we? So please..."

Lawrence gritted his teeth, struggling to hold back his own tears. He didn't want to hurt this man. He didn't want to violate him. Regardless whether it had hurt him the last three times, that didn't make it okay this time.

_But he wants you to do it,_ the lustful side of him pointed out. _And you want to do it. You'll cause a whole lot more pain to both of you if you don't._

"Fuck..."

Furious with himself and his weakness, Lawrence slowly crawled off of Adam, ripping the tattered shorts and boxers roughly from his body as he extricated his hand from the delinquent's penis, then stopping to undo his own. As he was struggling with the oh-so-complicated catch of his pants, Adam quietly rolled himself over onto his stomach, burying his head in his hard pillow to smother his low whimpers and moans of anticipation.

Finally, Lawrence managed to undo the fastening of his pants, and he gratefully let them drop to the floor, to join the rest of their clothes.

_Are you doing this for him, or for you, Lawrence? How long could you have really held out?_

Ignoring the harsh and truthful side of him, Lawrence weakly climbed back onto the bed, his body covering Adam's. He gently slid his right hand under the trembling man below him and once again gripped his erection, which felt like it had grown at least twice as much in the short time he'd been separated from it.

Positioning himself as comfortably as he could above the younger man, not stopping to hesitate or think about why he was doing what he was doing, Lawrence pushed his own growing cock into Adam, as far as it would go.

_I don't care if it's wrong. I need to do this. And Adam needs it, too._

And every doubt he'd ever had about this statement went away as Lawrence heard Adam's blissful, choked out moan, absorbed by his pillow. He moaned, too, of course, hotly and gratifyingly into Adam's dark hair, but still... He was doing this as much for Adam as he was for himself. Maybe even more.

Another thrust. Adam could remove the pillow from his mouth for all Lawrence cared; shame had deserted him at this point. He was already pathetic. A pathetic little piece of shit for having feelings like this for his prisoner. And he was sadist for loving to torture him, even if that feeling had almost disappeared by now.

But as Lawrence heard Adam whimper into the pillow that he was currently using as a muzzle, he realized that it didn't matter what he did.

Adam was hurt. And Lawrence couldn't help him.

He just made everything worse. Even if by this he soothed Adam's arousal, the pulsing erection in his hand, he still hurt him. Adam's moans were tainted with agony, since Lawrence, by every push, put pressure on his broken rib. But it didn't matter. They'd really hit that new low.

It didn't matter that Adam was wounded or that it wasn't impossible for Jack or anyone else to enter the criminal's cell, just to see that he was as okay as he possibly could be.

Because now, they were like two horny teenagers who couldn't even wait until their parents had left the house, and they'd suffer for that later, but it didn't matter, it didn't matter at all.

Adam convulsed beneath him as his lover crushed into him once again. It hurt, once again, it hurt like hell, and the feeling of his broken rib poking into his lung didn't exactly help in that matter, but God... _God,_ he could already feel the pressure in his cock increasing with his heartbeats. His heart seemed to be a tiny, clawing animal, trapped behind his ribcage, threatening to break out, and he'd come, he'd come in one, last, pleasured moan, into Lawrence's waiting hand, and he'd feel that man bite back a grunt and empty himself inside of him...

It hurt, it still hurt, of course. It always would.

But just those thoughts, and Lawrence pushing into him again, were almost enough for him to get him through it.

Lawrence had been so turned on when he'd begun this, he was amazed that it was taking him, and Adam, for that matter, so long to climax. Although he was still thinking about the delinquent and his pain, Lawrence could not help from quickening and strengthening his thrusts somewhat, even though the feeling of the damaged rib pushing inadvertently against his body as he forced himself into him was little short of sickening.

Why hadn't he noticed the kid's condition before? He must have broken the rib when he'd attacked him, in that indescribable act of anger and hatred, or maybe Adam had broken it himself when he'd fallen... Either way, Lawrence had lifted, with Jack's help, the criminal up when he'd passed out. And hadn't he spent over ten minutes with the escaped prisoner, unconscious in his arms, while he waited for Jack, who was about as good at navigating as Lawrence was at controlling his temper, to find them? Why had it taken him so long just to realize how much his victim had gone through?

_I'm such an asshole..._ Lawrence thought bitterly, hating himself even more as he slammed himself into the writhing man below him. _Adam must be desperate..._ More _than desperate if he wants me._

But even as he thought this, the older man began to feel the unmistakable signs of an approaching orgasm, which he'd come to recognize pretty well in the short time that he'd known Adam. He could also feel from the increasing pulsing and throbbing sensations under his working hand that his companion was not too far from releasing, either. He was still moaning and gasping shamelessly into his pillow, and his right hand was still on top of the stroking and enticing hand of Lawrence.

Adam's infected left hand lay limply by his side, though it twitched and convulsed with every thrust from the other man, just as his body did. Lawrence's other hand was resting on the back of the criminal's hair. It was taking most of the older man's concentration just to continue pushing his aching erection into the kid's bruised backside, then to steal himself to pull out again, groaning as this brought his oh-so-wanted climax even further away, let alone the hand-job he was still struggling to maintain for Adam's benefit.

Finally, after what felt like agonizing centuries, Lawrence's stubborn penis gave way, and he came, hopelessly and shamelessly, all over the man below him, just as he had done three times before. The only difference was that now he actually _cared_ about the person who had caused him to orgasm.

Adam, after one last agonized moan, which was for the most part still covered by the pillow that his head was buried in, released long and hard into his lover's hand, his body relaxing and stilling slightly once he had no more cum to discharge.

It took a while for Lawrence to come to his senses after this. Afterwards, he vaguely remembered picking himself up from Adam's body, and then lying down beside him for a few minutes in order to gather himself. More clearly, he remembered getting up and, after rubbing some water from the rusted basin over the worst of his tainted body, hurriedly redressing himself. He barely remembered Adam, his face flushed and his eyes glazed, staring after him as he made to open the door of the cell, then stopped, hesitating.

He'd turned around. He'd come back. And, even though some parts of him -- the parts that still had trouble accepting that their owner had a heart -- told him to go, to leave the kid there and just pass off the events that had taken place as another act of desire and impulse, nothing to do with Adam, Lawrence had found himself kneeling down beside the battered man, whose injuries had mostly been caused by him.

As the younger man, still naked, but covered mostly by the blanket that the detective had carelessly draped back over him, had stared up in confusion at his tormenter, wondering why in the hell he was still there, Lawrence had picked up another cotton ball from the forgotten first-aid kit, wet it with some more water from the metal cup, and pressed it to the large and ugly bruise on Adam's chin.

Even though it had had nothing to do with him or his own needs, Lawrence had still done it. He'd stayed in there for over and hour, taking care of the worst of Adam's cuts and bruises, first cleaning them with the water, then spreading disinfectant on them, and then finally bandaging them, using the supplies sparingly. He had even taken care of the cuts on his hands, which had taken a long time and had used up at least half of the bottle of disinfectant. He hadn't been able to do anything about the rib, though.

"I'll have someone look at it soon, Adam," he had said, gently brushing the younger man's sweaty hair away from his equally-sweaty face. And then he'd kissed him. A light, soft kiss, not one meant to arouse, but to comfort.

And, as he had been leaving, Lawrence had been so busy thinking about that kiss -- a kiss of the sort that he hadn't given to or received from his wife since their honeymoon -- and whether or not the sweat on the delinquent's face was just aftermath from what they'd done and not something more serious like he feared, that he hadn't even noticed that he'd gone back to calling him "Adam."

**God, Adam's so whiny when he says he wants Lawrence to fuck him, isn't he? It's like he doesn't have a clue about how many teenage girls who've said the same thing over the years! Anyway, please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Yay! Another chapter! Well, in this one, Adam's fever becomes worse and worse, and Lawrence begins to get more and more worried, because he's finally had to admit to himself that he loves that damn criminal. Enjoy!**

**13. Feverish Anguish**

These days, Lawrence didn't know which life he preferred.

During the following days, his and Adam's relationship could only be described as, the way Adam put it, "some late-night rendezvous-crap," where Lawrence made sure he got the night shift to sneak into Adam's cell, give him cigarettes, a still slightly awkward stroke over the cheek, listen to his sarcasms and shoot them back at him until he had to go again.

One of their conversations -- the one where Adam coined the name of their relationship -- was an ideal example of how their discussions usually sounded.

Adam had suddenly cut something Lawrence had said off with a roar of laughter, and Lawrence had looked at him, his one eyebrow raised.

"What?"

"I don't get it," Adam had said, and shaken his head as he dropped some ash from his cigarette that landed on the floor like grey dust. "I've gotten a fucking big shot-cop on his back in his own cell. And now we've started some late-night rendezvous-crap. That's another thing I thought I had to do before I die."

Pause. He'd inhaled from the cigarette again.

"It's stupid."

Lawrence had chuckled.

"As stupid as you look when you're smoking?"

"No," Adam had said, and shot him a toxic glance through the veil of smoke. "I was thinking bigger. Like how stupid you look in a uniform."

Lawrence had smiled and shaken his head.

"Sometimes I hate you so much."

"No, you love me," Adam had quipped confidently, drawing another puff.

And Lawrence liked this. Sure. Of course it was nice to see Adam look at him without hatred dripping from his eyes, of course the kisses were good the way they were now, when there was more love in them than there'd been with Allison since their honeymoon, but...

But the insane side of him still missed how it had been before, when he had been the slave driver and Adam the sex object. It was... more comfortable that way. He didn't have to think, he didn't have to feel, he didn't have to... He didn't have to be so God-damn fucking worried. Because he was. The anxiety gnawed at his insides. It was a little animal that fought inside his stomach with claws, teeth, and evil shrieks.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

_Adam_ wasn't supposed to be this way.

Because Adam got sick.

Lawrence had always known, he realized after a while. He'd known. He'd _felt_ Adam's hot skin, seen his flushed cheeks, the cold sweat, he _knew_ about the dehydration...

But still, this wasn't the biggest problem. The biggest problem, which Lawrence became aware of on one of the nights when he walked into his lover's cell, was Adam's damn annoying stubbornness.

Lawrence unlocked the door to the cell as quietly as he could. He didn't think anyone would catch him. The only one in the station except for him was Jack, and he was sitting at his counter, his chin resting in his hand, fast asleep, but that was the way Lawrence was thinking. Simple paranoia.

Adam was huddled on his bed, his arm was folded underneath his head, his breathing was deep and calm, his shirt hung loosely around his almost-sickly thin body, his soft locks were in tempting little strands over his pale forehead, and Lawrence suddenly felt so ragingly attracted that his hand clenched into a fist in his pocket.

But it didn't take long before the desire turned into worry. Because Adam usually woke up at the same time as he heard the key in the lock, he usually sat up with a sleepy grin, but now... He looked...

Lawrence felt a ball of ice forming in his stomach at the thought.

He looked dead.

Lawrence rushed to Adam's bed in two big strides and cowered in front of it, looked at the face that was so pale, so dreadfully _pale_ despite the fact that Lawrence almost felt the heat from it without touching it, and he grabbed Adam's shoulder with bigger desperation than he had intended and shook it.

"Faulkner!" He said in a loud voice, then immediately hated himself as he remembered what a light sleeper Jack was.

Adam grunted and sat up with a jerk.

"Jesus, Lawrence," he muttered, rubbing the side of his face.

Lawrence swallowed a relieved laugh when he saw his lover awake.

He wasn't in the best condition possible, that was obvious, but he was alive. He was with Lawrence, just as wonderfully cranky and sarcastic as he had left him.

"Sorry," he said, as the delinquent opened a sleep-hazed eye and looked at him under ruffled bangs. "I just got worried. You're so hot. And you look terrible."

"That sounded a little contradictory," Adam said in an annoyed tone, lying back down. Lawrence smiled as he saw him close his eyes again.

"Don't go back to sleep," he said lovingly, shaking Adam's shoulder again. "Listen to me, Faulkner. I think you've got a fever."

"Come on," Adam grumbled, careless over his friend's correction. "I'm fine. Just tired... Which I don't think you should be too hard on me about, since it's about two o'clock AM."

Lawrence frowned. Adam's flaming cheeks and slurred speaking had been cute at first, but now it'd crossed the line. It was _alarming_. And, more than anything, it was clear symptoms of a fever that Adam wouldn't admit he had.

"Adam," he said strictly. "You're sick, okay? Can't you let me take you to a doctor?"

And then, it was too late.

He didn't even think about the fact that he'd called him "Adam."

Because his Adam was asleep, his breathing was once again calm and deep, but at the same time, too tortured, too hot on Lawrence's face, just like his clothes were too big around his body, just like the wrinkle between his eyebrows was too deep, for him to ignore it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

What Lawrence didn't know was that this was just the beginning.

The beginning of something terrible. Because no matter what Adam said, and no matter how hard he tried to conceal the headaches, the tiredness, the awful, awful fever that got higher every day, it was there, it was there and it refused to go away. And after a while, Lawrence started wondering if it would have been able to go away even if Adam hadn't been so annoyingly stubborn.

"You're an idiot," he said, concerned, and leant against the wall next to his lover's bed one day when the flush on his cheeks was deeper than usual, when he grimaced harder than usual when he swallowed, and still refused to show it. "If you won't let me get a doctor, fine, but for God's sake, can't you at least tell me _why_?"

Adam smothered a rattling cough and looked up at him with childishly stubborn eyes, shiny from the fever.

"I don't want you to get a doctor," he hissed in a hoarse voice, cringing again when he had to force sounds from his infected throat, "because I'm not fucking _sick_, okay?"

"You're not sick?" Lawrence asked mockingly. "Then why don't you tell me why you haven't been able to stand up for the past week?"

Adam's eyes went dark. They turned into tiny, sharp needles that bored under Lawrence's skin and injected him with guilt.

"Hell knows why," Adam said in a dangerously smooth voice. "Maybe it's because a fucking cop has fucked me into pieces and then beaten the shit out of me for no reason. You'd probably be active as hell after that, but us regular, mortal people have a bit of a harder time dealing with that. We do weird things, you see. _Feel_ and stuff."

And after that, Lawrence couldn't talk back to him. After that, he could only play cards with Jack and slowly, slowly but _God_ how painfully, get used to being one of those regular mortals that the kid had been talking about.

But during the following days, Adam just got worse and worse.

Every night, Lawrence would walk into his cell and see, really see how a little more life had left him since the last time he had seen him. And every night, Lawrence thought: _Okay, he looks worse today, but this is as bad as it gets. It's reached its culmination, everything will be fine now, everything will..._

But that never happened. Never.

Adam got worse every day. And Lawrence was filled with too much of that terrible, warm feeling for him just to handcuff him and drag him to a hospital himself.

And it didn't reach its culmination.

His fever hit the roof, but it never broke it.

Until now.

**I just love these cliffhangers. I'm starting to end every chapter with them. XD Now, review, or... Or else!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hehe… I really am evil with these cliffhangers, aren't I? Well, I'd lie if I said that this chapter didn't end with a cliffhanger, too, but hey, at least you get to read some of my sweet angst before that!**

**14: Slipping Through Fingers**

"Adam?"

Adam grunted, his head jolted to the left, a small wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, but he didn't wake up. Lawrence didn't think he'd even heard him. It was more his anxious expression, his slightly jerking body, and more than anything, his burning hot skin. Sure signs that he was having nightmares from the fever.

And it was with guilt -- _damn Adam for making him feel these things_ -- that Lawrence realized that not even he, even if he'd wanted to, could save him from those. God. This fever scared Lawrence. He'd known that Adam had reached a dangerous level of dehydration, but this dangerous...

The cold sweat was dripping off the younger man's face, his black, soft bangs were sticking to his forehead, and he was so hot, he was so damn hot.

Lawrence couldn't wake him. But he'd be damned if he wouldn't try.

"Adam?" he repeated, shaking the kid's shoulder slightly. "Adam, can you hear me?"

He didn't care that he was actually calling him "Adam" again. He didn't care that anyone could open the door to the cell at any second and see Lawrence Gordon -- cold, zombie-like Lawrence Gordon, who was known to love to torment his prisoners -- leaning over Adam, and, with pure desperation in his tone, begging him to wake up.

Lawrence didn't care if anyone saw that. He only cared about Adam. And the cold, horrified panic that rose in his voice confirmed that very well.

"Adam!" he called again.

And still without thinking about it at all, he cupped Adam's one, burning hot cheek with his hand and pressed a despairing kiss to his lips. A kiss of pleading, of fear, of please-come-back-to-me.

_Adam... Please..._

And Adam opened his eyes.

His gaze was clouded and absent, his breath was shallow and he barely seemed aware that Lawrence was there, but he woke up, and the older man almost cried with relief.

"Adam," he sighed, sweeping a hand gently over the delinquent's cheek. "Thank God..."

"What?" Adam asked lazily, his voice cracked.

"Adam, listen to me," Lawrence said, and tried to make their eyes connect. "You've got a fever. Very high fever. Do you understand?"

"Okay," Adam said, even though Lawrence highly doubted that he'd heard a word he'd said.

"Do you understand?"

"Okay," Adam said again.

"Good," Lawrence replied.

He moved his hand from the younger man's cheek, got up, and hurried out of the cell and into the station's lobby to find Jack, who was sitting half-asleep at his counter.

"Jack," Lawrence said, thumping the desk with his fist so hard that the inferior startled and widened his eyes, obviously very awake in a very short time. "I have to take a prisoner to the emergency room. He's sick."

"Okay," Jack said with the same hazed absence in his voice as Adam. "Which one is it?"

"It's the guy in number 37," Lawrence said quickly and hurriedly, silently praying that his coworker would be too tired to check out which prisoner was in that cell.

But you didn't always get your way. Actually, sometimes, you got so far away from your way that it almost cost the life of another person. Because Jack really did look around in his papers, and Lawrence saw his foggy eyes widen once again before he shifted them to his superior.

"_Faulkner?"_ he said, mock dripping from his voice.

"He's sick," Lawrence said, trying to make his tone sound firm, but it just sounded like a prayer. "His fever is off the scales, and in such a case, you can bring a prisoner to the hospital as long as they stay under constant watch, I know that. Come on, Jack..."

"_You_ come on," Jack said, waving his hand. "Fever goes away. And why do you care?"

Lawrence pretended not to have heard him. He just walked out of the lobby, back into Adam's cell that he hadn't even bothered to lock the door of, and up to the bunk where he lay, huddled up into a ball with his arms wrapped around himself and his teeth chattering as if the sleeper were cold, even though he was hot as hell.

Lawrence put one arm under his legs and the other one around his back, and he felt the small, warm body tense in his arms, so soft, so cute that the carrier just wanted to nuzzle up against his neck, feel the warmth and the scent of his skin, trace kisses up his jaw line, his chin, and then to those parched, cracked lips... Kiss away his fever, whisper that everything would be okay...

But instead, he went out to Jack again, the criminal still in his arms.

"Look at him," Lawrence said, moving forward and letting Jack see his burden's pale, pale face. "You can't say he doesn't need treatment, because he'll die otherwise."

Jack smiled weakly, his eyes flashing.

"So, that's why you didn't want me to call him good-looking?" he said teasingly. "You wanted your boyfriend all for yourself?

"Jack," Lawrence said, and now he didn't have to work to make his voice sound menacing. "I promise, if you don't give me permission, I'll _carry_ the kid to a hospital, and if he dies on the way, I'll blame you."

But that wasn't true. If Adam died, Lawrence would always blame himself. Only himself.

Jack looked at Lawrence in a way that Lawrence didn't think a lazy, jaded New York cop was capable of, before he picked up his pen with a sigh and found a form from the stack of papers in front of him.

"Damn, you can be annoying sometimes, Lawrence," he said, scribbling down his signature on the bottom of the paper. Even though he was no where near as high up as Lawrence was in the ranks of the police force, it had somehow fallen onto Jack to be in charge of such things as prisoner organizing and decision-making. Probably because his superiors didn't think him capable of doing anything else.

"There," Jack said, handing the paper to Lawrence with a quick, mildly concerned glance at the unconscious man in his arms. "Just write where you work, who the prisoner is, what's wrong with him, and show one of the doctors your badge, and they'll take him in without charge."

"Thanks," Lawrence said, putting the form in his pocket, which was a lot harder than it should have been with Adam's tiny body in his arms.

"But I still don't get why you care," Jack said, dropping the pen on his counter. "Hell, we brought in an orphaned, eighteen year-old hooker with gonorrhea that had knocked his own teeth out to give better blowjobs last month, and you gave him two years. For _prostitution."_

Lawrence nodded sharply and adjusted his grip on Adam. He hoped his panic wasn't showing on his face.

_Bottom of the barrel,_ he thought, and tried not to flicker his gaze. _I'm afraid of Jack Riley. The man has spent his entire adult life behind a desk. He wouldn't even scare Diana. Me, on the other hand..._

"I will lock him away for burglary," Lawrence said in an almost steady voice. "But I can't punish the kid for being dehydrated and fucking sick."

Jack raised his hands in defense and leant back in his chair.

"Fine, fine. That was mostly your fault, anyway, wasn't it?"

Lawrence nodded again and started walking towards the lobby's exit with Adam in his arms. Hopefully, Jack hadn't been able to see how his heart slowly crumbled at his words.

"_That was mostly your fault, anyway, wasn't it?"_

_Yes, Jack,_ Lawrence thought when he finally got out onto the street and the musty New York air hit him. _It's my fault. The dehydration is my fault. The fever is my fault. And do you see the bruises on his face, the way he gasps when he puts pressure on his broken rib that I still haven't had the balls to have anyone look at? Do you hear his breath wheezing because his throat is so damaged? That's my fault, too. Everything is my fault. Every little thing._

Lawrence quickly reached the police car that he usually drove, which was thankfully not parked more than a few meters from the station -- Adam was so light that the older man could have carried him for miles and miles, but it was time that worried him, not his own physical endurance. He opened the door to the passenger's seat and laid Adam's motionless body gently down on the soft fabric.

The criminal grunted and turned in his sleep, and when Lawrence laid a hand on his cheek in a vain hope that his fever had miraculously gone down during his conversation with Jack, he didn't get much consolation. It was more like Adam felt _hotter_ than before, and his face was still moist from cold sweat that stuck his soft locks to his forehead, and Lawrence almost started to cry as he realized that for the first time in his life, there was nothing, _nothing_ he could do.

_He's dying,_ Lawrence, a cold little voice in his head said mockingly. _He's dying, and it's your fault._

"Adam?" he tried desperately, and shook the sleeping man's shoulder. "Adam, wake up!"

Adam didn't. His eyelids fluttered briefly, and Lawrence gained a glimpse of his tortured, dazed eyes, before they were covered again by his heavy eyelids, and stayed that way, no matter how much Lawrence shook him.

Adam was slipping away. And the only thing Lawrence could do about it was close the door, round the car, sit down behind the steering wheel, and drive. Drive like he'd never driven before.

The ride to the hospital seemed everlasting. Adam was lifeless in the passenger's seat, and Lawrence couldn't even try to wake him up, since at the same time he had both hands on the wheel and was dodging the constant onrush of traffic that seemed ten times worse than usual, but on some level, he knew that there was still nothing he could have done, anyway.

He could've been alone with Adam in a prison cell again and been kissing him, touching him until he begged him to go further, he could've been pressing Adam to the ground and handcuffing him again, he could've been with Adam in a storage room, beating him up until he could hardly move. Nothing would help.

He could go through all of the time he'd spent with Adam again, and the younger man would remain still. Too still. There was nothing Lawrence could do.

After a few minutes, or an hour, or a day, or a fucking week, Lawrence stopped the police car outside of the hospital -- a rough, dilapidated old building that he'd only been to once in his entire life, when Diana had been born. He didn't know how he had managed to find his way to a hospital he'd barely known existed, and when a prisoner was in the need of it, he rarely cared. But now, here he was, and he glanced over at Adam before he stepped out of the car.

He was so pale. He was so pale, and yet, when Lawrence tore the car door open and felt his forehead, it was so obvious how _hot_ he was, how sick, how... dying.

Adam was dying.

It wasn't until then that the voice in Lawrence's head really got to him. Up until now, "Adam is dying" had just been something that it had said to make him hurry, to make him scared, to make him panic even more than he already was. But now, it was reality. God-awful reality. Adam was dying. He could die.

And even though Lawrence knew that he wasn't a damn miracle healer, even though he knew that Adam didn't need him, but a skilled doctor to get through the fever -- _that you brought down on him, you fucking selfish murderer_ -- this thought paralyzed him more than it actually rushed him.

Instead of lifting Adam up again, he just shook the hand that he'd moved down to his cheek, felt his fingers slide over the drops of cold sweat, and he had to move his other hand over his eyes in a quick motion to stop the burning tears that rose in them.

"Adam..." He mumbled, and subconsciously closed his hand into a trembling fist. "Adam... Please..."

Adam said nothing.

And after that, right after this moment of realization -- _Adam said nothing_ -- it felt like Lawrence had sunk down in cold, _oh_ how cold water, like it rose from the dirty sidewalk and closed itself around him, and that he couldn't move anymore, or even breath.

And the water was murky. He couldn't see, either. Everything rested in a grey fog. So when he'd finally picked Adam up, he had to _walk_ in this viscous, tranquilizing mass with a sick, limp body in his hands. And it went slowly. So terribly slowly.

And when he was behind the hospital doors and up at the nurse's station, he had no idea how he got the note from Jack out of his pocket. Because he didn't see anything, hear anything.

But somehow, he could still lay Adam down on the gurney that doctors and nurses rolled over to him, and he had no idea how he did it or how he knew he did it, and he had no idea how he heard a nurse say that Adam would be fine, that he was just a little dehydrated, because he didn't hear anything, and he didn't see anything, and the only thing that he felt was this awful, impenetrable, black despair and guilt, and the only thing he heard, despite the fact that he didn't hear anything, was the roaring that had begun in his ears.

The fog that the tears left in his eyes, on the other hand, nothing got past.

**I told you there'd be cliffhangers! And believe me, if you don't review, our sweet little Adam might face his grim fate…**


	15. Chapter 15

**Well, here's the next chapter! It's cute, because it has bedside sitting in it, which is cute. For once, it doesn't really end in a cliffhanger. Well, it does in a way, since you'll all be wanting to know what happens to Adam and Lawrence eventually, but it doesn't end in an **_**immediate**_** cliffhanger, so that's sort of a good thing... Right?**

**15. In The Nick Of Time**

Lawrence had no idea how long he and Adam had been in this room, with Adam lying motionless on the bed and him sitting close to him on an uncomfortable bedside stall. He vaguely remembered the various available doctors, transporting the kid's limp body from the gurney and into the more comfortable hospital bed, then giving him various injections and transfusions, made to cure or ease dehydration and weariness, then leaving him there with Lawrence, telling him that the patient would wake up shortly, and that his fever would leave him soon after.

Adam's eyes were closed and his breathing was peaceful. There was no pain in his expression anymore, only a weakness and tiredness that seemed to drain his face of all color and make him breath sparingly, as though doing so made him even more exhausted.

He _had_ stirred a couple of times, but the heavy drugs and sedation that he was on made him unable to stay awake for long, and Lawrence doubted that he would even remember the stirrings, as he said nothing during them and seemed not to have heard or seen anything, either.

Lawrence had already announced to the bewildered doctors -- some of which knew him, or at least his reputation, quite well, and were shocked to see him caring so much about a criminal that he himself had arrested -- that he was staying, and that he wouldn't be leaving until the patient was ready to leave also. He'd called his wife and briefly told her that he was on a late shift, which was partly true, even though he knew she'd probably find out the truth sooner or later. He didn't care and neither did she.

At about three o'clock AM, Adam stirred again, only this time, he was quite awake, albeit still somewhat drowsy and hazy. Lawrence, who had been lost in his own thoughts, which, for the most part, were about Adam, started when he realized the younger man was completely awake, and staring at him in a mixture of confusion and inquiry.

"Why'm I..." he mumbled sleepily, his voice still heavy with the lingering effects of the medication.

Lawrence hurriedly moved his hand out and pressed a finger gently over the delinquent's trembling lips.

"Don't try to talk," he said quietly, moving his other hand up to the tired man's hair and brushing it lovingly out of his face. "You're very tired, and you're on sedation. Try to sleep."

The inquisitive look in Adam's eyes lessoned somewhat, and his lids moved down a little, as though he were finding it difficult to keep them open. Lawrence moved his finger from Adam's mouth, bent down, and gave him a soft kiss. A comforting, reassuring gesture, much like the one he'd delivered back in the station's high-security cell. It seemed to relax and calm the receiver more than any of the drugs had done, and within a few short seconds, the young man was asleep once again, his chest rising and falling slowly as he breathed.

Lawrence waited for a few minutes, then took his other hand from Adam's hair, even though he didn't really want to, and gave a long, gratified sigh of relief. He was convinced now that the kid was going to be okay. Well, the _fever_ wasn't going to hurt him, anyway.

But, now that the possibility of Adam dying no longer plagued his mind, Lawrence was forced to focus on other things that, while not as bad as the previous possibility, were still enough to make the older man bite his lip hard in worry, and prevent him from getting any sleep that night.

He couldn't stop thinking about the trial that Grey had mentioned. He remembered that the man had said that Adam would probably only get a few years, since his cause to rob the houses had been just and admirable, but for Lawrence, even a few years was too much. He didn't want his little Adam to be imprisoned even for a _day_. The thought of his delicate little figure, being pushed around and dominated by the other, much more strong and ruthless, prisoners, made him feel sick to his stomach.

"_He's a pretty good-looking guy, isn't he?"_

Jack's words echoed in his head, almost bringing the tears to his eyes. Yes, Adam was a _very_ good-looking guy. He was down-right adorable. Even Lawrence, who had been emotionally withdrawn for over ten years, had had to admit to that. So, what would happen when a bunch of sex-deprived murderers and rapists, who knew how to be secretive and deceiving, even in prison, and who had nothing to lose, saw the kid, too?

He'd have no chance. No chance at all.

And it was this thought, this _horrible_ thought, the thought that the man he loved, more than anyone else in the whole world, would be viciously gang-raped on a daily basis, and maybe even killed eventually -- none of the prison staff would care, and Adam didn't have any family or friends to get outraged about such a thing, as far as they would know -- that made the tears fall from Lawrence's eyes. He hardly ever cried. He'd grown accustom to not feeling or, when he did feel, hiding his emotions from everyone, including himself.

But Lawrence cried that night. More than he had when he'd thought Adam was going to be taken from him by the fever that he had been partially responsible for bringing about. Because now, it looked like Adam was going to be taken from him, anyway. And in a much worse way than the fever could ever have done. And that would be his fault, too. Everything was his fault.

He cried and he cried, and the sight of Adam, his face relaxed and his breathing calm, only made him cry harder. Because he loved him, and he couldn't bear to lose him.

Lawrence didn't know for how long he sat like that. The tears poured down, poured mercilessly down the cheeks that had forgotten how it felt to have wetness on them.

The darkness settled like a soft, black blanket over the windows after a while. New tears welled up and ran down, because for every second Lawrence spent looking at Adam's relaxed, beautiful face, one single thought ran through his head:

_This could be the last time I see him._

_He could be taken away from me. Tomorrow, he could be fine, tomorrow, I might have to take him back to the station, tomorrow, he could be taken away from me, tomorrow he could be taken away from me without knowing how much I love him._

When the nurse walked in a few minutes later, he didn't even bother to hide the tears. Shame had deserted him. All that was left was sorrow. Empty, clawing, biting sorrow.

The black-haired nurse bent down to check Adam's IV, but she stopped in her tracks when she saw the detective's tears, and looked at with wide, frightened eyes.

"Officer Gordon, what's the matter?"

Lawrence swallowed a sob and muttered, without taking his eyes off Adam's face:

"Will he be okay?"

"You know he will," the nurse said, giving the tube in Adam's arm a few quick taps. "I'm more worried about you. You have to get some sleep."

Lawrence shook his head angrily.

"I'll be here when he wakes up."

"Officer Gordon..."

Lawrence lifted his gaze and bored his hateful eyes into hers. He'd only ever seen Adam pull off a look like that, but now he managed it, too.

_Adam, _he thought, and with a spiteful satisfaction he saw the nurse step back. _How proud you'd be of me now._

_"I. Will. Be here. When he. Wakes up," _the sitting man repeated, hissing the words between clenched teeth.

Because he would. Like hell he'd sleep now.

The nurse raised her eyebrows and walked out of the room with a long and deliberate sigh. Lawrence didn't feel much sympathy for her.

_Adam..._

Lawrence allowed the tears to keep running silently as he reached out a shaking hand to take Adam's pale one, which lay on the covers.

How small it was. The pale little hand almost disappeared in Lawrence's, and it was warm, even though it was pale, and warmth meant life. Adam wouldn't die, but... The thought made Lawrence bow his head and sob in such an undignified way as even more overwhelming, gut-wrenching grief struck him.

Adam wouldn't die. But it still felt like no matter how hard Lawrence held him, he would never get him back. The detective lifted his head and laid his glazed eyes on Adam's face. Small, pale, defenseless. Like his hand. He wouldn't survive in jail. Not one chance.

"Adam..." Lawrence mumbled awkwardly, stroking his thumb over that tiny, tiny hand, still covered in the bandages that he had put there to cover the scars that he had given him.

_Do you even know what you want to say? _a cold little voice in his head said.

_Yes, _Lawrence answered without a second of doubt. _I know exactly._

"Adam..." he repeated. "Fuck, man..."

Adam didn't wake up. He didn't even move. Lawrence chuckled through his tears.

"Adam, you little idiot... Hey, I don't even call you "Faulkner" anymore. Have you even thought about that? No, of course you haven't. You don't think about anything. Do you even know how to think?"

Lawrence laughed again. God, he was sad. All these insults, all this trash-talk. And it was just for the sake of covering up something that both of them knew, anyway.

"I love you, Adam."

_You're such an idiot, _the voice in his head said, and it was right_. __By God, it was right._

But it didn't matter.

Adam mattered. The pale, passed out person who wasn't even an adult and that lay in front of him, battered, bandaged, sedated, and feverish. He mattered. Nothing else did.

"I fucking love you, you little idiot..."

No response. And soon, he would lose him.

"Adam," Lawrence repeated, squeezing his hand. "Adam, you have to wake up... Hell, why would you even start with the burglary? Of course you'd get caught. You can't do anything right... And I love you. You have to... Have to wake up now..."

And then sobbing. More sobbing, for God knew how long. But then...

Adam moved.

A little, tiny bit, he moved. So little that it could've all been in his head, but it wasn't. It was real, it was so wonderfully, wonderfully, amazingly real, it might have brought new tears to Lawrence's eyes -- tears of joy and relief -- if the older man hadn't already shed almost every one he had.

Then Adam had torn his hand out of Lawrence's grasp, lifted his arms above his head and stretched himself with a weak moan, still lying on his back. His bandaged fingers brushed up against the wall that the bed was leaning against. And that was real, too.

Up until now, Lawrence's life had been a fog, a fog of lack of emotions, trapped in sorrow, in vain attempts to hide his past. But now, it was real, and it hurt and it was amazing, but it was always real. Always real.

Lawrence stared in childish wonder as Adam let his arms drop and slowly opened his dark eyes, laid them on the other man, slowly, slowly.

"Lawrence?" he muttered.

Lawrence didn't answer. He just got up from his chair, without taking his eyes off Adam, drinking in the sight of him -- small, tired, ruffled, squinting against the light -- before he bent down and pulled him into his arms, pressed that thin body against his own as hard as he could, and he wasn't ashamed at all of the fact that he was sobbing into Adam's hair.

He sobbed because it couldn't last forever. He would lose Adam, he would lose him soon. But up until that moment, up until when they dragged the delinquent away from him, he would press that damn kid against himself and feel his slim arms embrace him back and let him know what he hadn't dared to say before.

"Adam..." he whispered in a shaky voice. "Adam, you little idiot, I love you so fucking much..."

And up until they pulled Adam away from him, up until the day that he died, Lawrence would always remember the feeling of Adam's breath on his neck, the feeling of those warm, loving little hands climbing up his back and those fingers running through his hair, and of Adam's unusually soft voice tickling his ear, soothing him, comforting him.

"I love you too, Lawrence."

**AW! They've finally confessed their undying love for each other! It's about freaking time, you two! Well, what's going to happen next, I wonder? You probably all know. Heh. The trial, of course! Adam will spend a few more days in hospital with Lawrence, and then... Well, I won't give it away! You're just gonna have to wait and see (and REVIEW!). ...God, I'm such a bitch. XD**


	16. Chapter 16

**Okay, there are just no excuses for being this slow, but I'm still going to say that I'm really sorry for the delay on this chapter…Especially considering that I left it right when Lawrence had gotten his goddamned act together and admitted his love! It's just that my computer crashed, and school was being a bitch, and… Well, either way, new chapter!**

**16. The End of the World As We Know It**

Over the course of the next few days, Adam slowly began to recover. The glazed look that had settled itself over his face from the moment the fever had first begun began to fade, and that old, sarcastic expression that Lawrence loved so much took its place. The burning hotness that had seemed to radiate from the pale, smooth skin also disappeared, and the occasional hugs and gestures that the two shared -- they didn't make physical contact too often, since the risk of a doctor or nurse walking in on them was very high -- became much less uncomfortable.

During this time, Lawrence tried to hide his concern for Adam as deep within himself as he could. He wasn't sure how well he succeeded in this. In fact, ever since he had begun to admit to his feelings for the kid, Lawrence had been finding it harder and harder to conceal his emotions.

He tried to act like he had when he and Adam had first become friends, when he'd come into his cell with him, purely because he was concerned and not because he wanted him. But that was impossible, too. The sickening worry he felt for the young criminal practically tore his insides apart, and hiding it from his companion was becoming more and more difficult.

Finally, about a week after he had first taken him to the hospital, Lawrence spoke up. He did so because Adam's condition was improving rapidly, and he would more than likely be discharged before long. And then arrangements for the trial would be made. He'd spoken to Jack on the phone a few times since arriving at the hospital, and had been told that Grey was planning to set the hearing date just as soon as Adam was released.

"Grey's got a few rich sluts and bastards for the prosecution's witnesses," Jack had said the last time Lawrence had spoken to him. "All of 'em are gonna be bitching about how Faulkner ruined their lives by stealing their stuff. All of them are rich heirs and heiresses. I gotta say, Lawrence, just between you and me; I'm glad Faulkner chose such deserving targets."

Lawrence had had to smile at that. He had the feeling that Adam didn't mind rich people as a whole. He just disliked those who had been born into it, those who had never had to work for their wealth. Lawrence himself was like that. He believed that people who worked hard deserved to be rewarded, but he couldn't stand those with rich parents, who didn't know the meaning of suffering. Still, he knew the jury or the judge wouldn't see it that way, and the lawyers of the prosecution certainly wouldn't.

Lawrence sat across from Adam, wedged between his knees on his bed. The two had gotten used to being so close and not making an intimate situation out of it. The position the older man was in was also good, because no one but he and Adam could tell that they were making contact, thanks to the thick blankets that the hospital provided. Lawrence sighed heavily, and, even though he didn't want to worry him, finally spoke up.

"Adam..." he muttered, his voice low.

Adam, who had been examining one of the many books that the room had, hurriedly looked up. Seeing his friend's grave expression, he put the book down on the bedside table and leant forward slightly.

"What?" he asked inquisitively, his eyes concerned.

Lawrence sighed, unsure of how he should continue. He didn't want to throw it all on Adam at once. The kid had no idea that there would be any trial. At least, as far as he knew. He probably thought he was going to be let off, that Lawrence would help him. But what if he couldn't help him? What if he didn't have the courage or the power to?

"Adam," he began again, reaching out and grabbing the younger man's left hand, which was still heavily bandaged. He swallowed, then continued. "Those people you robbed..."

He felt the soft hand in his involuntarily stiffen as he spoke those last few words, and saw the adorable face that he'd come to love so much crease slightly in worry.

"What about them?" Adam said bluntly, suddenly very cold. He attempted to pull his hand out of the other's man's, but Lawrence held fast.

"Well... I know... I know what you did with the money..."

Lawrence looked down, focusing his eyes on the younger man's concealed knees that he was resting between. He could feel the delinquent's burning eyes against his hidden gaze. There was a long silence. Finally, Adam spoke.

"What do you mean?"

He didn't sound entirely confused. Lawrence was pretty sure that the kid knew what he'd meant. Nevertheless, he smiled. Adam really could be humble sometimes.

"I know that you give it to poorer families. We had some people come to the station and tell us about you. You don't keep any of the money for yourself, and..."

He swallowed, biting his bottom lip. He could feel tears beginning to come into his eyes. _God,_ he really was pathetic.

"And...?" Adam asked softly, as though he were close to tears himself.

Lawrence lifted his head and stared directly into the young criminal's bluish grey eyes, and in doing so, saw that familiar, defiant expression, which the detective recognized from when the two had hated each other.

_I don't hate him._

Once, it would have been hard for Lawrence to admit even that much, to tell himself that he didn't hate someone he had arrested, someone who had made him feel things that he hadn't felt in years. But now he found it easy. He found it immensely easy to admit to himself that he loved this... _amazing,_ beautiful person.

"And..." he muttered, and without thinking moved forward and put his arms around the younger man's neck, resting his head against the soft and weak chest and breathing in his warm and familiar scent. "And I've never loved you more, Adam."

He felt the criminal tense slightly at these words, as though he hadn't been expecting Lawrence to say such a thing. But before long, he seemed to give in to the affectionate and pleasurable feeling of having the other man so close to him. Slowly, uncertainly, Adam lifted his bandaged hands and put them around him, lying back on the bed and dragging his lover down with him.

Lawrence had no idea how long they stayed like that. All he knew was that he buried his face deep into Adam's chest and embraced him harder with his tired arms, not caring that someone could walk in and see them like this at any moment. And the feeling of Adam's gentle, God-like fingers, stroking the rough, un-brushed hair out of his tired face and murmuring sweet and incomprehensible things against his neck, made Lawrence want to just lie there forever, feeling safe and at peace with the world. He never wanted the feeling to end.

"Okay, okay," Adam said after a while, and released himself from Lawrence's arms. "Let's drop it while I can still feel my legs."

Lawrence chuckled nervously and straightened himself. His one hand found the other man's knee, instead.

"What were you about to say?" Adam said, fidgeting with the front of the book he'd been looking at earlier.

_Okay. Now. Say it now._

_Now. Now. Now._

Lawrence took a deep breath, squeezed Adam's knee, and looked into those lovely, glass-colored eyes.

"There will be a trial, Adam."

Adam's eyes widened for a brief second, before his usual, self-defending look returned, and he chuckled bitterly. His jaw clenched again, he looked firmly into the wall next to the bed, and he tried to act like he didn't care. But that beautiful glass in his eyes was shattered and broken, it had turned into sharp shards, and it was Lawrence's fault. Everything was Lawrence's fault.

"I talked to Jack, and..."

"Jack?" Adam cut him off with furrowed brows.

He still didn't look at Lawrence.

"The other cop I work with."

"The annoying one?" Adam asked with a small smile, and Lawrence laughed, even though the lack of eye contact was a knife, a sharp little needle that slid across his neck.

_He's just a man, Lawrence._

_No. He's not. Not to me._

"Yeah, the annoying one," he said, grasping desperately after Adam's gaze. "He said that Grey, my boss, had gathered up a bunch of witnesses. People you robbed. And they'll... talk about how you wrecked their lives, and stuff..."

"Too fucking bad for them," Adam hissed, and his voice was creaking, like an old cabin that had stood tall for years, too many years, and was now faltering.

Just like Adam. Little Adam.

Lawrence reached out and grabbed the stubbornly fisted hand that lay on the covers. The younger man didn't even seem to notice.

Little, little Adam.

"Adam," he continued in a tone that he hoped was understanding. "I know you didn't keep any of the money, but..."

"_Do_ you?" Adam blurted out, still without looking at him, still looking into the wall with eyes that got shinier and shinier by the second. "Do you also know _why_ I did it?"

He swallowed before he went on, like he hoped his voice would be different when he opened his mouth again, not as thick, not as shaky, not as opened up.

"I didn't want..." he began, stopped, and continued. "I didn't want those kids to grow up... like I did."

Lawrence felt the fist in his hand tremble. Or maybe it was his own hand.

He didn't know what to say. What were you supposed to say to a person like this? What were you supposed to say to someone who hadn't, until now, when it was really too late, told him who he really was? Who he really had been?

"Adam..."

The younger man drew in a shaky breath, and Lawrence gave up every attempt to talk when those shiny, broken glass eyes looked straight into his own, and he saw everything. All of the suffering. All of the concern.

He saw all of the times when Adam's stomach had turned into a knot when he'd seen the dirty, skeleton-looking children he'd given money to, all the break-ins, all the nights in cold alleys, all the days with no food.

"How much will I get?" Adam croaked out at last.

"Three to five years."

A nod.

"Will you try and help me?"

Lawrence forced Adam's knotted hand open, stroking his fingers across the palm, entwined their fingers.

"Adam," he said quietly, "I promise you that I will do _everything_ I can to help you, but right now, I don't know how much that is... Oh, Adam, honey..."

_Honey? Is he _honey_ now?_

While he was talking, Adam's face fell apart, turned into a grimace, his shoulders began to shake as the heavy tears that had glazed his eyes during their entire conversation rolled down his cheeks, and Lawrence reached out his arms and embraced him again, rocked him from side to side, stroked his hair.

"It'll be fine, Adam..."

Adam sobbed into his shirt.

"It's not right... Lawrence, it's not _right..."_

"I know... I know, Adam..."

**Aw… Poor little Adam… But Lawrence is with him, so it can't be all bad, right? Anyway, please review! **


	17. Chapter 17

**That's right, everyone! I'm BACK! And in this (short) chapter, cute things happen, which goes without saying, since it's Adam and Lawrence. And, as usual, it ends in a major cliffhanger, because I'm just such a bitch like that. Hehe. Enjoy!**

**17. Things You Pick Up From Behind A Desk**

The day that Adam and Lawrence had been dreading came all too soon. fAlmost two weeks after the young man had first been taken to the hospital, the lead doctor there, Hutchins, informed the two very nervousf listeners that Adam was discharged and free to leave at any time. Hardly an hour later, Lawrence, sitting on the bed between Adam's knees, got a call from fJack, informing him that Grey had ordered him and the prisoner back at the station.

"Bad news?" Adam asked stiffly, regarding his lover in concern as the older man bit worryingly into his lip. Sighing, Lawrence hung up the phone and turned to face the delinquent. Both knew what he was going to say.

"It was Jack... He said Grey... Grey wants us back at the station... Now."

The detective's heart ached when he saw how Adam's shoulders dropped and how his eyes fell at his words. There was a short silence, then Lawrence, hating himself, roughly stood up from the bed and took its remaining occupant's arm in his strong, trained hand, dragging him to his feet, as well.

Adam didn't resist as unfamiliar pressure was put on his legs, which, over the last few days, he'd only used to take himself from his bed and to his bathroom, but he kept his eyes on the floor, as though he couldn't or wouldn't look at the man holding him.

Lawrence swallowed, feeling the dryness in the back of his throat. He'd gotten hardly any sleep over the past two weeks, and he'd only had four very short showers in that time. He'd also been forced to keep his basic police-supplies with him -- his tase-gun, his handcuffs, his overpriced, oversized cell phone, and, most importantly, his hand-revolver. He hadn't enjoyed the sensation of those items pressing against his skin while he was with Adam, because he was sure that the kid would have been able to feel them, too.

Although he knew the criminal wouldn't make another grab for his gun, like he had in that storage room, Lawrence still didn't like the idea of Adam knowing that he had such things.

Adam's eyes were still staring at the floor, as though he thought it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. Lawrence, watching his downcast face, gently tugged on the arm he still held. It felt so weak and powerless in his own strong hand, like it could be broken with one soft twist. Adam, feeling the gesture, looked up, his expression blank and unreadable. Lawrence swallowed again, unable to look his lover directly in the eyes as he spoke.

"Adam... I have to... I have to handcuff you. I'm sorry... I-It's precautions. If I don't do it, they'll get suspicious."

Adam didn't say anything to this, but he gave a slight nod of interpretation, and moved his free hand closer to the one that his captor still held, so as to make it easier for him.

Reluctantly, Lawrence pulled out the restraining device from his uniform, and, as gently as he could, pulled both Adam's hands behind his back, caught them in the loops of the cuffs, and locked them. Then, without really thinking, he turned his prisoner around and put his arms around him, pulling the young delinquent into a tight embrace. Adam struggled for a brief moment, but then stopped, realizing that he was just as helpless as he had been when he and Lawrence had first met.

"I'll help you, Adam..." Lawrence muttered against his lover's neck, feeling tears coming into his eyes as he said it. "I promise. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Adam gave a tiny whimper and pressed himself slightly against the older man's body, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy.

"I'm scared, Lawrence..." he breathed into his imprisoner's chest. His shoulders shook slightly, as though they had far too much weight on them and their owner was finding it hard to hold it all up.

Lawrence lifted one of his hands and ran it gently through Adam's soft hair, feeling the familiar thickness of it between his fingers. Then he moved his hand down, under the delinquent's chin, and gently forced his head up, so the two were looking directly into each other's eyes. Both saw that the other was just as afraid as they were.

Lawrence moved forward slightly and gave Adam a soft kiss on the mouth, moving his hand back down and encasing his lover once again in a two-armed hug. The younger man hesitantly kissed him back, his lips trembling as he did. For about thirty seconds, the two just stood there, locked in an embrace, their mouths intertwined.

Eventually, regrettably, Lawrence pulled away, stopping their act and sighing.

"Come on," he said, his voice more husky than he wanted it to be. He let his hands drop from his lover's body, moving his right hand up and once again softly gripping the light shoulder that felt so weak and vulnerable. Adam didn't reply, but once again let his head drop and stared at the floor as Lawrence led him out of his room, down the hallway, and eventually out the back of the hospital.

He really wasn't in the mood to be answering questions or signing papers at the moment, so Lawrence took the fire exit, ignoring the "emergencies only" sign plastered on the door as he did so. In a way, it _was_ an emergency. If he was pushed too far by the irritating doctors and nurses in the main lobby, the hospital would be likely to have a bunch of new patients.

Sighing, Lawrence stopped just outside the door, closing it quietly behind him, and he and Adam stood for a few moments, taking in the sunlight that they hadn't really seen that clearly for a while. Then, feeling as though he'd rather be doing anything else in the world but this, the older man slowly took out his cell phone and dialed Jack's number. Even though he was a cop, the paper-signing desk boy could easily have doubled as a taxi driver since he'd met Lawrence. Or, at least, since Lawrence had taken to being too emotionally withdrawn to drive himself.

"Jack, come to the hospital in Madsen Street, around the back. Me and Adam are waiting there."

As usual, the detective hung up before his inferior could get a word in, which forced the poor bastard to comply with his request without question. And Lawrence, standing with his hand on his burden's shoulder, staring, like him, up at the blazing sun, was so absorbed in his own thoughts, so worried about what might happen to his lover, that he didn't even realize that he'd referred to the prisoner as "Adam" to Jack.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Over the next few days, the knot in Lawrence's stomach seemed to turn more and more into stone. A stone that weighed him down, kept him from moving, infected his brain, stopped him from thinking, even though all of his time went to doing just that.

He was thinking.

His stone-brain turned into gravel -- despaired, pitiful, useless fucking gravel -- by how hard he was thinking, by how hard he was thinking of one single thing.

_Have to help Adam._

_Has to be some way__, __some tiny, _tiny way _to help Adam._

He didn't have much success. He'd been a cop for so long. He'd memorized every single reason he could use to arrest someone, he knew the law book by heart, and Adam's particular case seemed to come down to one single point that no one could escape from.

Adam was a criminal. Criminals shall go to jail.

And especially considering that Adam could hardly afford a decent lawyer, this point seemed to take him down.

Lawrence was a ghost these days. Usually, this feeling -- the feeling of hopelessness, of drowning, of grasping for the surface of the water that was so temptingly close and still so awfully far away -- could be suppressed by his work. But not now.

That was actually why he'd loved his job up until now. Any negative feeling could be pushed away by that sadistic joy he felt when he got to lock someone up, even if he wasn't sure if they were guilty. And he'd tried, he'd really tried to feel that joy from when he'd arrested someone, but for some reason, every single prisoner had Adam's face now, and that stone in his stomach exploded into thousands of splinters that cut him, drew blood.

No. He couldn't do it.

So he'd started paying his coworkers to take over his shifts. He never went home, though. He just sat in the station with his notepad in front of him, drawing tiny circles over the lines, but never noting anything.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Christ, Lawrence," Jack said one day when Lawrence dropped a report of a murdered wife on his desk. "What is it with you now days?"

Lawrence glanced over at him. Jack wasn't usually this observant, but now he sat behind his counter, his brows concernedly furrowed, and for a second, Lawrence wanted to tell him everything. Jack was still the closest thing he had to a friend except for Adam, so Lawrence really wanted to tell him. About the alley, the interrogation room, the storage room, the prison cell. But he knew not to, and thank God for that.

"Nothing," he muttered, drawing his hands through his hair. "I'm just tired. Can't you just take this case?"

Jack picked up the folder that had landed on his desk, sent it a quick look, and dropped it again.

"Sure. Of course I can. But not until you tell me what the hell is going on."

Lawrence looked at him. Never, _never _had he seen Jack this serious, this mature. He was usually on the same emotional level as Diana, but now, he leant back in his chair and looked at Lawrence. Seriously. Like he really cared. Maybe that was what finally brought Lawrence to his knees.

"I just don't think it's fair," he said in an overcome tone, throwing himself down on the edge of the counter because his legs felt too weak to support him anymore. "He robbed people that were all some fucking remake of Paris Hilton, who have sat on their asses all their lives and are still rich. And he struggles every damn day to get money, and when he gets it, he doesn't even keep it. And they put _him _of all people in jail."

Jack chuckled and leant against the desk.

"Sorry, I just have to make sure," he said, picking up his pen. "We're talking about Faulkner now, right?"

Lawrence nodded.

"Then I don't get what the hell you're bitching about," the younger man said. "You can be damn persuasive, Lawrence. You should know. Hell, you haven't worked in three days because you've paid all of those under-qualified newbies to take your cases. If you want Faulkner to be free so badly, can't you just testify for him?"

Lawrence looked at him lazily.

"What?" he said stupidly, and the inferior's smile got wider. "Can I?"

Jack threw his head back and laughed out loud.

"Of course you can! The kid has no witnesses for him, just against him. He doesn't have any people to vouch for him yet, sure, but that doesn't mean you can't be the first."

And then, Lawrence finally realized...

A plan.

A plan that wouldn't _definitely_ work, sure. But it was a plan, and it made him laugh in relief, but made the stone in his stomach even heavier at the same time.

_Of course._

**AW! Lawrence is going to testify for Adam, the adorable, caring bastard! And what will happen next? Well, if you review, you'll find out! And I know I always say that, but it's true, damn it! XD**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey hey, guess who's back? After **_**another **_**long update, which I'm sorry about… But for what it's worth, I've been sick, and needless to say, this chapter was basically what I was fantasizing about all the while… If that doesn't get you healthy, though, I don't know what does! Because yes, we do return to the smut in this chapter!**

**18. Old Habits Die Hard**

"Here he is, sir," the over-cheerful rookie announced, smiling proudly while pushingf Adam roughly into the room.

The criminal stumbled as he struggled not to fall face-first from the force of the push, and Lafwrence found himself glaring at the rookie, whose smile faded immediately.

"Thank you," the detective said icily. "You can go now."

The rookie scurried gratefully from the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving the two remaining occupants in it grinning at one another.

"It must be great to be able to boss your coworkers around like that," Adam chuckled, moving forward and seating himself in one of the office chairs. "You can be really intimidating sometimes."

Lawrence smiled and pushed his chair closer to the younger man's, feeling at ease with the world for the first time he could remember in ages. Adam noticed his lover's closeness and nervously fiddled with the armrest of his own chair. He really was cute when he was nervous.

"So... What did you want me for, anyway?" he asked, his voice feigning indifference. "The trial's gonna be starting in a few hours. Jack said--"

"Shut up, Adam," Lawrence muttered, getting up from his chair and striding over to his companion in one giant step. Without thinking, the older man roughly seized the kid around his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. Adam tensed as the detective's fingers pulled desperately at his rough shirt, struggling to get it off.

"Wh-What're you--" he began, but was immediately silenced by his companion roughly pushing his mouth against his, kissing him urgently with both his teeth and his tongue working at full capacity, while all the while his fingers still struggled impatiently with his shirt.

Finally, after what felt like decades, Lawrence managed to succeed in uncovering his lover's pale chest. Still kissing him, pushing him roughly against the office wall, the older man began to tear at his own upper-clothing, ripping and clawing at it viciously in a fierce impatience that scared even him. Once he'd managed to pull that irritating bit of his uniform off, Lawrence was finally satisfied. Without removing his mouth from Adam's, he passionately wrapped his arms around the smaller man's bare upper-body, feeling the soft and pale skin that he loved so much.

Adam, once he was over the initial shock of what had happened, began to kiss and touch his lover back, just as desperately as he was doing to him. Neither could believe how good it all felt, and how the cravings only got worse with each fervent gesture. It had been almost a month since they had done this kind of thing -- the last time had been in that jail cell, when Lawrence had gone to tend to his lover -- and they hadn't really missed it, either, since their relationship had gone from being physical to loving.

But Lawrence wanted Adam now. Fuck, he'd never wanted him more. Even though he hadn't thought about the sex, or even the overly passionate make-out sessions that they'd occasionally shared in the delinquent's cell, for a while, he had still subconsciously missed it. Deep down, that was probably the reason he had invited him into his office in the first place.

Adam moaned as Lawrence's rough tongue attacked the inside of his mouth and his hands ran along his shivering body, and he managed to return the gestures, even in his half-drunken stupor of shock and pleasure. Even though someone could walk in on them at any time -- Lawrence hadn't locked the door to his office and some of the people who worked with him rarely knocked -- neither felt that they really cared. It had been so long, so... _long._

Lawrence was still pushing his lover hard against the wall of his office, and Adam was finding it harder and harder to stand on his own two feet. As the older man suddenly pulled away from the criminal's mouth and began to suck and nibble at his neck, Adam's legs suddenly gave way, and he collapsed.

Lawrence, whether because he was psychic or just because he'd been expecting something like this, managed to catch the younger man before he fell to the floor. He was still so light.

Grunting, unsure of what he was doing, Lawrence half-carried, half-dragged the limp body in his arms over to his desk, and, without bothering to think, pushed him roughly onto it, causing the assortment of papers and pens that had lined it to fall onto the carpet with dull _thuds,_ then climbed on top of him, pinning his lover tightly between himself and the hard and expensive oak of the desk.

"Lawrence..." Adam grunted, clenching his teeth hard as his companion went back to work on his neck.

Lawrence said nothing, but he gave his lover a tiny reassuring nip on the side of his collarbone, which silenced the other man immediately. The feeling of Adam's warm, sweating body, pressed up against his own, made the older man shudder and moan, and caused the penis that he'd forgotten all about to pulse in blissful delight.

Adam, gripping the detective's bare shoulders tightly with his own weak hands, which, even after all this time, still had the faint signs of the old scars on them, tried desperately to keep his grunts and whimpers to a minimum. If someone were to hear them...

"Fuck, I missed this," Lawrence mumbled huskily against Adam's neck, moving his hands rapidly down his shuddering body as he spoke.

And he really had missed it. Fuck, how could he have missed something so much, when he hadn't even _known_ he was missing it until now? It didn't really matter now, though. All Lawrence cared about, and Adam too, for that matter, was the familiar and maddening lust that was building in every part of his body, most notably his throbbing cock.

Lawrence was surprised when he felt Adam grab his shoulders, his thin fingers clenching into his skin, and pushed him away -- it only lasted for a second, but the detective still had a memory of being almost cold for this moment -- and performed some kind of weird maneuver.

He wasn't sure how it happened. But the next second, Adam was on top of him, he was in control for the first time since they met, and Lawrence wasn't cold at all anymore.

It was quite the opposite. His heart had stopped sending blood out to the rest of his body. Instead, it seemed like every beat, heavy and vibrating, like the beat of a pendant, just increased the heat of his blood, warming it up until it started boiling and rushing around his veins to the places where Adam's small hands were, and Lawrence wanted to move, he wanted to pull Adam's face down to his, kiss him, bite those rough, fervent lips as that predilection of domination slowly returned to him, but Adam was still on top of him, his legs were on both sides of his hips, holding him fast.

Lawrence was his. The tables had turned.

And what Lawrence had really brought Adam in to tell him melted away from his brain without any resistance at all.

"Are we trying something new today?" the older man purred quietly.

He sensed Adam's erection growing against his own as the younger man felt his breath on his face, and he did his best to swallow a moan, even though he knew that if someone could hear what they were doing through the wall, they were already screwed.

"You don't seem to mind much," Adam muttered, taking a hold of Lawrence's hair and capturing his lips in a fervent kiss, full of that lust that blurred the world around them, that locked them into a bubble out of the heat from their bodies, the lust that they'd actually forgotten about up until now, but that had still been scorched into their subconscious and their flesh.

Lawrence tore his lips away from Adam's and traced kisses down his jaw line, over his neck, and pressed him closer, listened to the kid's moans as their nipples brushed against each other, felt how he pressed his hips harder down against Lawrence's, rubbed their erections together, coaxing a stifled gasp from the other man.

Jesus, his penis almost _hurt_ by now, trapped behind the rough fabric of his shorts and pressured by Adam's body weight on top of him, still on top of him, and he needed him _now,_ needed that pulsing erection inside of him, needed that warm hand on his suffering cock, _now, God, now..._

And then, another sound other than their own moans and gasps reached into his and Adam's bubble.

An opened door. And a gasp.

So Lawrence turned his head to the side, and saw, through a haze of lust and desire, Jack, _fucking goddamned Jack_, in the doorway, a deep blush on his cheeks and his mouth gaping in shock.

And just like when Lawrence had found out what Adam had really done with that money, it felt like something he should've known all along.

**I've gotten some reviews asking if Jack has no idea what's going on… Well, apparently he does, doesn't he? XD Well, review and let me hear the shocked gasps! **


	19. Chapter 19

**Yay for long-delayed updates! XD In this chapter, hot sex takes place. But Adam, for once, is actually the dominant one in this case, and HE actually gets to go on top! GASP! Don't worry, though. After this, it'll be back to good old Lawrence-plows-Adam format. A change once in a while is always good, but Lawrence has to go on top at least 90% of the time, or he loses his touch!**

**19. Trying Something New**

Adam and Lawrence lay there, still, transfixed, staring at the newcomer.

Jack's eyes were fixed on them, his mouth was open wide in shock and disbelief, and his face was almost as red as the two's he was looking at. For a few moments, none of them moved, then, in a lightning-quick movement, the desk boy retreated hurriedly out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Lawrence, horrified, terrified, tried desperately to push his lover off him, but Adam seemed to have found new strength in himself from the blinding lust that still clouded his mind, and the older man found himself pinned helplessly by the smaller body on top of him, completely at his mercy, just as surely as if he had been bound by invisible ropes.

"Don't go, Lawrence..." Adam murmured, moving his head slowly down and once again kissing and sucking along his lover's jaw line. "Please..."

Even though the kid had him pinned, trapped under their arousal, Adam was still begging him. Lawrence found himself smiling at this, and he gripped the fragile shoulders even tighter in his embrace.

"Don't wanna go anywhere..." he muttered huskily, feeling dazed as Adam's tongue tickled the nape of his neck. "Except maybe inside you."

The older man smirked at the effect these words had on his companion. Adam's mouth faltered against the other man's collarbone, and his body convulsed. Lawrence could feel the criminal's hard, pulsing erection digging into his own, making his mind go numb with the pleasure and making his own mouth forget all about the need to be quiet.

For a few minutes, there was no more talking. Only a fervent desire by the two men to get closer to each other, even though they were already pressed up against one another with all of their strength. Adam, his mouth against Lawrence's now, attacking his tongue with his own, suddenly gave a muffled grunt of frustration and roughly rolled himself and his lover off the desk table, onto the floor.

There was a brief moment, in which both struggled for dominance, wrestling and scrappling against one another as each fought furiously for control, still kissing each other passionately as they did so. Somehow, Adam managed to win, and Lawrence found himself staring up at the usually-so-fragile and easy-to-control man that he had always managed to wrap around his little finger. Adam ripped his mouth from his and breathed hard into his face, his entire body shuddering. They stayed like that, staring into each other's faces, unsure of what to do next but _needing_ to do _something_.

It was Adam who finally snapped. With an anguished moan of frustration and torment, he began tearing at his pants, not used to having to remove them himself. Lawrence could never quite remember exactly what happened after that, since his mind was getting blanker by the minute, but the next moment, when he'd come to himself, he realized that he was lying on his stomach on the rough carpet, with Adam on top of him, and both of them were completely naked.

Lawrence moaned when Adam's hand slipped hesitantly under his body and at last grasped his painfully throbbing cock in his tiny, vulnerable hand. It was a position that both were very familiar with, but...

"Looks like I'll be the one going inside you, huh?" Adam muttered against his lover's neck, his words slurred and hard to understand. Lawrence grunted in agreement, and shifted his body slightly in order to get it into a better position.

"Don't talk, Adam," he begged huskily. "Just fuck me. Please, for the love of God, just..."

And that was all he managed to say before all other words left him. Adam, uncertainly, carefully, pushed his own throbbing length into the older man's waiting opening, and both moaned at this completely new, yet, at the same time, familiar, feeling.

Somewhere, in some small place, deep inside his mind, the mind that didn't focus on Adam's careful thrusts, a tiny voice said that the biggest reason why this felt new for him was that no one had made him feel aroused at all in the past ten years, and not so much that he and Adam had switched places this time. But that was a tiny voice. So very tiny. That voice also said that this wasn't reason why Lawrence had brought Adam into his office at all, that Adam, too, should have known what Lawrence planned to do when the trial took place.

But the detective didn't even hear it. Even if the voice had somehow drowned out the sound of him and Adam panting, he still wouldn't have heard it. Hearing had deserted him, words had deserted him; he was left alone with Adam, who hardly consoled his lust.

"I'm not... hurting you, am I?" Adam muttered from behind him.

Lawrence chuckled.

"You are, in one way," he said teasingly. "Do... Do I have to insult you to bring out your usual gruff self, Adam?"

Adam tugged his hair loosely, still making rough, uncertain trusts from behind.

"You wanna get it on with me, you fucking little rapist?" he mumbled sarcastically, planting a small kiss on the back of his lover's neck.

"More than anything in this world, yes," Lawrence replied, his voice hoarse.

"Oh, really?" Adam said, and even though he didn't see him, Lawrence knew that he grinned. "Then I know what should shut you up..."

The younger man harshly pulled out, then with impossible strength pushed his erection into the other man again, and even the small, small parts of Lawrence's brain that still thought reasonable thoughts were suddenly filled with a strong, red glow, with the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life and the biggest longing, the biggest satisfaction and so many promises of a bigger one, and he grunted, his sweaty fingertips slipped around when he tried to bury them in the expensive carpet beneath him.

"More..." He choked out huskily, pleadingly, biting his bottom lip. "Adam... Please..."

_  
You remember when you had pride, Lawrence?_ a voice asked dryly, but even that left him when Adam jammed himself into him again.

Adam did not even have to be encouraged to give Lawrence more, to quicken his paces, to make them more rough and domineering. He was ramming himself repeatedly against his lover, bucking his hips with his own, struggling to keep his grunts of blissful pleasure quiet. The position Jack had caught them in earlier had been bad enough, but if someone were to see them like _this_...

Lawrence lay still, his face buried in the expensive yet uncomfortable carpet that his sectary had probably chosen for him. He wasn't even worried about anyone walking in on them anymore. He'd gladly have had everyone in the entire building witness this if it would make the damn criminal go any faster.

Adam was now using his entire body, save for the one hand he still had on the other's throbbing erection, to ram into Lawrence, then pull back out again. He'd never realized how tight this was, even when the older man had done this to him. Had he not been going at the force he was going at now, Adam never would have had the strength to push his penis into such a small opening.

Lawrence suddenly gave a hoarse, strangled moan, unable to contain himself, as Adam's arousal brushed against his prostate, and he felt tears come into his eyes from the pleasure it gave him, but more so from the blinding agony that was worse than anything he'd ever felt in his entire life.

Adam, not able to stop his thrusts for anyone at this moment, even for the man he loved, brought his free hand clumsily to Lawrence's cheek and stroked it, only half-aware of what he was doing. With his other hand, he was making long, satisfying strokes to the impossibility massive cock that he still grasped, realizing as he did so that the immense size of the other man's penis was probably no bigger than his, which he was currently using to butt and crunch against his lover's insides.

Adam could feel his orgasm approaching with more and more speed, and Lawrence, crying and moaning softly below him, could also feel the familiar lightheadedness beginning to wash over him as he climaxed, arching his body hopelessly and desperately against Adam's as he did so, in a frantic attempt to make their salvations come sooner.

It was Adam who gave in first. With a concealed, blissful moan of relief, he emptied himself into the opening of the man he lay on. Lawrence, only a few seconds after, felt his own penis give way, and even in his blinded state of lust and drunkenness, he felt the hand still wrapped around his suffering length dampen as the contents of his arousal were emptied mercilessly into it.

Lawrence grunted when Adam pulled out of him one last time. He heard his lover breathe heavily behind him, heard him crawl forward on the floor until he was next to him.

Lawrence smiled when he saw Adam. He panted harder than such a small person should have been capable of, and his pale chest, that was coated with tiny pearls of sweat, heaved slowly, and his dark hair was damp, and Lawrence thought, even though the sadistic side of him didn't like it much, that he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Adam was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Lawrence's smile faded as he reached out a hand, since he was still filled with the undeniable wish to touch him, and raked his hand through his hair.

"I love you, Adam," he said sincerely.

Adam glanced over at him, and he blushed when he saw Lawrence's grave expression.

He still wasn't used to this. He'd never been treated well in all his life, and Lawrence especially had probably treated him more like crap than anyone, so when he said this... No. It was surreal, in a way.

He knew Lawrence loved him. He knew he'd never hurt him again. But it was surreal. It couldn't fit into his head.

"Of course you love me when I do this to you," he mumbled with a small smile. "Damn masochist."

Lawrence laughed and moved his hand down to Adam's cheek before he kissed him, softly, gently, without desperation this time. Adam slowly opened his eyes when Lawrence pulled away. He loved this. He loved these moments, and he loved Lawrence, he loved him more than anything in the world, but soon, it'd all be destroyed, thrown away and shattered. Because Adam knew how Lawrence would react to this question.

"What're you going to about Jack?"

But Lawrence didn't react like he thought at all. Adam thought his peaceful face would drop and fall, that he'd get up and put his shirt back on, walk out of the office without giving him a single look. But Lawrence just drew his hand through his own hair and sighed weakly. A tiny wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, but he stayed on the floor.

"Don't know," he said slowly. "The trial starts in a few hours, and I don't have time to talk to him before then."

Adam scoffed.

"Of course you do. He's just outside."

"I know," Lawrence said. "But he has a shift out on the streets right now..."

He suddenly stopped.

_"We_ have a shift out on the streets right now," he corrected himself and put his hand over his eyes with a moan. "Shit, I'm supposed to be there with him..."

"You're not going any-fucking-where, Gordon," Adam muttered, moving closer to Lawrence.

Lawrence smiled when he looked down on the young man. When he saw the dark hair that curled at the back of his neck, the hazed, grey, half-closed eyes, the small hands with the slim fingers that where lain down on his chest...

No. He wouldn't go any-fucking-where. Because there was no-fucking-where he'd rather be, no place in the world that seemed more appealing than an expensive, stained carpet in his office with Adam.

"No," Lawrence mumbled, snaking an arm around Adam's waist. "I'm staying here with you."

**AW! So cute! Lawrence was in pain in this chapter! I guess that's Adam's way of paying him back for all the times he's raped... Uh, I mean, "made love to" him. He and Lawrence are very much in love in this fic, of course. At least, they are now and will be for the rest of the story. I don't know about beforehand. XD Anyway... R&R!**


	20. Chapter 20

**It's been a while since I've updated, so to make it up to the few of you who actually still review or favor my work (seriously... If you like it, you should review it after you've read it! It, like, makes me happy and such XD), I've updated twice! A new chapter for this fic and a new chapter for my other fic! And I think I'll be starting another one soon, too. Adam and Lawrence, of course! So... Enjoy!**

**20. Facing Reality**

It wasn't until over an hour later that Lawrence had finally managed to gather himself enough to break his embrace with Adam and hurriedly shower and change into his best and most formal outfit, which he'd asked Allison to send to him days before. His office had its own bathroom, almost fit to be in an actual house, and, after locking his office door from the inside to ensure that no one would walk in and see who else was there, Lawrence had showered in record time and, with some difficulty, forced himself into the expensive and uncomfortable clothing.

Adam, sitting quietly on one of the chairs in the office, his arms wrapped around his knees and looking up at his lover once he reentered the room, chuckled unkindly at the older man's appearance. He himself was still completely naked, which, Lawrence thought privately, was when he looked his best.

"Damn, Larry," Adam muttered, struggling to contain his laughter. "And I thought your _uniform_ looked stupid."

"Shut up, Faulkner," Lawrence snapped back, feeling his cheeks coloring somewhat, both from the insult and from the younger man's calling him "Larry." "It's your turn. Get your ass in there. I've got some spare clothes you can change into when you're finished."

Adam made a face and obediently strutted into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him and making no attempt as he did so to hide his exposed body from the other man, who felt himself blushing even further at the sight of him.

"You'd better have left me some damn hot water, Lawrence," came Adam's half-sarcastic voice from behind the closed door, followed shortly after by the sound of running water.

Lawrence didn't say anything. He just sat heavily on his favorite chair, trying desperately not to think of Adam, standing in that shower, sighing with pleasure as the hot water hit his cold, yet sweaty body. It really was a good thing that he'd spent the last hour wrapped tightly in the delinquent's arms, not to mention what they'd done before that, Lawrence thought sincerely while he carelessly laid out the semi-expensive formal clothing that the kid was expected to wear at the trial.

The detective honestly doubted that he would have been able to contain himself if they hadn't. Even so, Lawrence couldn't help imagining -- fantasying, if he was honest -- what it would be like with the two of them, crammed together into a shower cubicle with hot, soothing water raining down on them, their naked and sweating bodies pressed up against one another so tightly...

"Am I meant to wear this crap?" Adam asked disbelievingly, once he'd finished his wash. He was standing directly in front of him, the bundle of clothes clutched in his arms.

Lawrence, his cheeks coloring in yet another blush, nodded, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the rough carpet of his office floor. The younger man leant down in front of him, so that his face was barely an inch from his, and, before the other could react, caught his lover in a rushed, but still passionate, kiss.

Lawrence gasped in surprise and pleasure, unable to contain himself. It wasn't an overly domineering and lustful gesture; more a reassuring and affectionate one. Adam pressed his still-naked body against the older man's and deepened their kiss, running his hands daintily along the uncomfortable and restraining suit that his lover wore.

After a few minutes, Lawrence grunted and pulled away, separating himself regrettably from Adam. He'd already unlocked his office door, and someone was bound to come and get them soon, since the trial was due to start in less than an hour. It wouldn't be good to have anyone else catch them doing something like this.

"Come on," he muttered, pointing grudgingly to the ugly clothing still in his companion's arms. "Get dressed. The trial's gonna be starting soon, and I wanna try to get a word in with Jack before it starts."

Adam slowly nodded, looking disappointed as he did. With every sign that the tailors of the clothing he was forcing onto his body were the newest members on his people-to-kill list, the delinquent hurriedly dressed, looking, after he had done so, surprisingly good.

Lawrence couldn't help but smile. It didn't matter what the kid wore; he always looked beautiful. Adam caught him staring and blushed, obviously embarrassed, and snapped defensibly:

"What?!"

Lawrence chuckled lightly and pointed to the chair across from his. Adam sat uncomfortably, obviously not used to these kinds of clothes. Once he had settled himself as comfortably as he could, the young man's eyes rested on the detective's, and he repeated:

"_What_?"

Lawrence shook his head and turned away, directing his attention towards the door. For a few moments, both were silent. Adam sat motionless on his chair, staring at the same place that his lover was, and Lawrence, his heart pounding in his chest, waited anxiously for the knock on the door that he knew was not far off.

Sure enough, within just a few short minutes, there was a rough knock at the door and the familiar voice of Grey in the doorway.

"Lawrence, it's time," he called through the thick wood of the door, and the addressed man slowly got to his feet, followed immediately after by Adam. "You've got Faulkner in there with you, right?"

"Y-Yeah," Lawrence stammered, unlocking his door and gesturing for his superior to come in. "I had him shower, get changed. Basically, we've been getting ready for the trial."

Grey nodded gruffly, sparing Adam a quick glance before he turned his attention back on his employee.

"You look very smart, detective," he said, the ghost of a smile showing on his wrinkled old face. Lawrence nodded, trying to look like he always did in situations like these; cruel and uncaring. He wished he could say something to compliment his boss's own suit, but even Lawrence was not that good of a liar.

The old man had on some ridiculous old tuxedo, which looked like it had cost more than his and Adam's suits put together. His grey hair was washed, for the first time Lawrence could remember in ages, and neatly brushed, although this did nothing but make its wearer look like a drowned rat.

Adam was standing awkwardly by the chair he'd been sitting on, obviously as taken aback by the man's appearance as Lawrence was. Grey turned his attention back to him, and his eyes narrowed in dislike. Nevertheless, he spoke in a civil tone, though it could not be more obvious that it was completely forced.

Lawrence found himself feeling nervous as his boss approached the younger man, holding out his hand in a stony greeting. Although he doubted that Jack had told Grey about what he had seen, Lawrence still couldn't help thinking that the old man knew something, or at least suspected something. After all, in the various trials that he had been forced to attend in his lifetime, Lawrence had never gone so far as to help one of the defendants get ready for it.

"Faulkner," he said, his tone icy as he shook Adam's hand. The young criminal nodded, averting his gaze as he did so. After a few cold shakes, Grey released the prisoner's hand and Adam withdrew it gratefully.

Lawrence stepped forward a few paces, joining the other two in what became a cramped kind of triangle. Adam's gaze flittered to him for a split second, before he quickly let his eyes drop. Grey smirked.

"A bit nervous, Faulkner?" he asked unfeelingly. Receiving no reply, the old man went on: "I can't really say that I blame you. After all, we've got a lot of witnesses that will be ruling against you. I'd be willing to bet that you'll be getting five years, minimum."

Adam slowly lifted his eyes and stared hard into his taunter's face. Then, surprisingly, he smiled, his expression set and unafraid.

"That's a pretty biased thing for you to be saying," he said, sparing Lawrence another quick glance as he spoke. "I hope you won't be acting this informal during the trial, if you're going."

Grey's expression grew angry at these words, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to hit the young delinquent across the face. After a few moments, though, the old man seemed to compose himself. At least, he didn't physically assault the man who had mocked him.

A few minutes later, the three of them were walking, Adam beside Lawrence and Grey a few paces ahead of them both, down the long corridor that led to the station's only court room. It had been built there quite some time ago, in order to prevent the inconvenience of transferring the prisoners still to be tried from one building to another.

Adam wasn't handcuffed, but Lawrence kept an ersatz grip on his shoulder just to be safe. He had no doubt that Grey would not hesitate to shoot the younger man if he attempted to escape. He hated criminals more than he himself had once done. The fact that the old man kept glancing hopefully behind his shoulder to see if the prisoner was preparing to make a break for it didn't exactly lesson Lawrence's suspicions, either.

Lawrence moved his hand stealthily from around Adam's arm to settle on his shoulder, instead, and felt said body part shift a little under his fingers.

"Do you _have_ to?" he muttered, his voice low so as not to be overheard by Grey.

Lawrence smiled weakly and squeezed the younger man's shoulder in a way that he hoped was comforting.

"We're not alone anymore, Adam," he mumbled.

He didn't really think about the fact that it was hard to seem comforting when it felt like his stomach was full of jellyfish.

_  
They can't lock him up. They can't lock him up._

Grey opened the big doors to the court room and revealed a large, grim-looking place, filled to the brim with angry "victims." Adam's face seemed to lose all the color it had had left when he saw what he was walking into, and Lawrence couldn't really blame him.

"Oh, God," the delinquent moaned, and subconsciously backed up a few paces.

"It's okay," Lawrence said, not even thinking about lowering his voice anymore, not caring that Grey heard him, or that they were right before a crowded -- a so frighteningly crowded -- room. "I'll get you through this. I promise."

"I'm _doomed_, Lawrence," Adam said. His voice was thick with suppressed tears of horror. "There are so many..."

This was true. It wasn't just that the grandstands were packed.

What made Adam so scared that his face had suddenly gone from white to sickly gray was the cubical where the witnesses were sitting. It was crawling with people. Crawling with people who wanted to hurt Adam. It was full of people that all had the exact same goal: _That fucking little kid is going to be locked up._

_  
_  
Lawrence felt his grip on Adam's shoulder tighten, not to reassure him this time but because he was scared, and the other man probably felt that, too. His eyes were widened in childish fear, like Diana's had been when Lawrence had told her about the bogeyman, and the older man felt tears burning in his own eyes.

When he'd scared Diana with that story, he'd been able to make a joke about it. When he'd scared Diana, he'd been able to sit her down on his lap, he'd been able to give her ice-cream and say that he'd hit the bogeyman if he tried to get her. But he couldn't make these monsters go away. He couldn't defend Adam from these people. He couldn't even make Adam think like that.

And, more than anything, it was no more Adam's fault that he was here, in this room, than it had been Diana's fault when she had gotten so scared that time. It was Lawrence's.

Grey smiled evilly when he saw the look on Adam's face.

"You're going in there," he said, nodding toward the huge, gaping door. Adam gulped. His breaths came in short, shaky thrusts.

"I won't get a lawyer?" he said finally. His voice sounded like a squeak, and Grey's cruel smile became instantly wider from the sound of it.

"No. I thought we'd have to give you one, but it turned out that if you can't afford one on your own, you're alone out there. You could have appealed and asked for one, but it's too late now."

Adam made a sound that could've been either a sigh or a moan, and put his hand over his mouth. Lawrence swallowed and tugged his shoulder lightly to make it seem like he was calm.

"Come on, Adam," he said in a low voice. "We should just get this over with."

And Adam walked with him. He was going with his head bowed, like he was ashamed, and Lawrence so badly wanted to put his arms around him, comfort him... Do all those things that he wasn't sure he would ever be able to do again.

When they walked past the cubical of policemen involved with the case, Lawrence spotted Jack's black hair just above the counter. He felt a cold jolt run through him, and Adam's shoulder seemed to tense beneath his hand. Jack leaned his chin against his hand, just like he'd always done, ever since they'd graduated from police academy together, just like he'd done all those days when Lawrence had sat on the edge of his desk and played gin until Grey had walked in and told them to get back to work, and just like all of the other times that suddenly felt so far away.

Lawrence searched desperately for Jack's gaze when he led Adam past him. And when he finally got some eye contact, he did his best to send some sort of telepathic message, gain some sort of understanding. But the young man almost immediately looked down, and Lawrence was soon too far away to send any messages at all.

The walk to the cubical where he and Adam would sit felt like miles away. Lawrence heard the buzzing from the witnesses' cubical increase as they walked by, and Adam's head seemed to sink even further down between his shoulders.

"Ignore them," Lawrence mumbled, and finally sat the criminal down on a chair in their cubical.

He sat down next to him. The judge had the cubical next to them, and, at a quick glance toward Grey, who nodded curtly, she adjusted her glasses.

"Okay," she said into the microphone in front of her, banging her gavel smartly against the bench several times until the room grew quiet. "This court is now in session."

Adam fumbled after Lawrence's hand. And when he grabbed it, he squeezed it so tight that the older man thought his fingers would fall off.

**Uh-oh! The trial has begun! I'm not very good with courts and how they work and such (my court "knowledge" comes from watching Judge Judy and Law & Order XD), but I hope I did okay so far. And you mustn't assume that just because we're at the trial the fic is nearly finished. Without giving too many spoilers, I'm hoping to make it quite a bit longer! Yay! So, R&R!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Damn it! It's been too long since I've updated, hasn't it? Well, I'm here now, and I have a new update! Obviously. Otherwise, why would I be here? Ah, well. So, uh... In this chapter, Adam has to go to court and face some of the people he stole from. GASP! The poor adorable little thing... What happens from there? Well, you'll have to read to find out! God, I'm such a bitch. XD**

**21. Facing The Demons**

"Please state your name for the record," the judge said to Adam, looking at the young man who sat trembling on the bench beside her. "And your age and occupation."

Lawrence felt the hand on his, hidden from sight by the bench, tighten as its owner swallowed, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him.

"A-Adam Faulkner," he said in a small voice, letting his eyes drop, along with his stomach. "Twenty-eight, no occupation."

Lawrence almost gasped aloud at this. The kid was twenty-eight? But he looked so young, so... fragile.

Adam caught his lover staring and hurriedly pulled his hand from his, resting both his hands on the bench but keeping his gaze firmly fixed to the floor. Lawrence guessed that the delinquent was probably intimidated by all those accusing eyes, and thought they were directed at his holding the older man's hand.

The bailiff of the court, a large, brawly looking man who stood loyally by the judge, looked across at the defendant and coughed slightly to get his attention. Adam spared him a brief glance, but soon turned away, intimidated more than ever. Even though it was in completely the wrong time and place, Lawrence couldn't help thinking:

_He's so fucking cute when he's nervous._

"Would you raise your right hand, Faulkner?" the bailiff asked gruffly, and Adam complied. "Do you swear to tell the truth in these matters?"

"Yeah," the young criminal muttered, his voice audible but clearly terrified.

Satisfied, the bailiff stood back, and the judge banged her gavel once more.

"Adam Faulkner, you are accused of various degrees of burglary. How do you plea?"

"Well..." Adam looked confused at this question, despite himself. Lawrence felt his heart sink as he realized that this man probably knew no more about courts than Diana did. "I _burgled_ the places, yeah... So I guess I'm guilty."

A low titter ran up from the many filled seats in the room, and Lawrence had to contain himself so that he wouldn't get up and pummel everyone there senseless. Adam's face flushed with embarrassment, and he seemed to sink somewhat in his seat. The judge banged her gavel moodily.

"Order in the court!" she snapped, and Lawrence immediately felt closer to her. "Mr. Faulkner, are you sure that you want to plead Guilty to the charges laid out against you?"

"Yeah," Adam muttered, keeping his eyes away from everyone and everything.

"Then, we will be hearing witnesses now," she said, looking quite weary. She was probably forced to deal with these kinds of things all the time. "The witnesses will be both in your favor and against it. We will hear the latter first."

The bailiff cleared his throat slightly, and consulted a list that he drew out from a pocket.

"Miss... Patricia Andersen?" he called, and a young girl, about fifteen, eagerly jumped to her feet and all but ran over to the witness bench, seating herself comfortably and importantly, as though she were used to owning the situation. Lawrence's stomach churned in dislike, and he felt Adam stiffen beside him, as though he, too, were having trouble containing his anger.

The judge looked pointedly at the witness, and her brows almost seemed to furrow in disgust. Maybe that teenaged girl's type was loathed by everyone but its own group. Once the bailiff had sworn the young girl, the judge spoke up.

"Miss Andersen, your home was one of the many that the defendant burgled, correct? Would you mind telling us when this happened, and how?"

Patricia nodded, and shot Adam a look of hatred before she began speaking. Her voice was high and nasally, so much so that Lawrence found himself missing Diana's violent temper-tantrums from when she had been a baby.

"Well, it was on August the fifth," she said, her horrible voice carrying over the entire room, and probably beyond it, too.

Adam's hands, still resting on the bench, clenched tightly into fists. His jaw was clenched even more tightly then before, the muscles there like hard knots under his light skin.

"I had just gotten home from school," Patricia said, trying her best to sound more upset than angry. "Mom and dad weren't home..."

Lawrence felt rage sparking violently in his stomach, like a hotplate beneath his nervousness. Patricia knew just what to do to make her voice quiver in a believable way, to make fake tears appear in those huge, made-up eyes. And Lawrence didn't even want to think about how many times she must've done that just to get a new pair of Prada shoes.

_Fucking little bitch._

"And I did forget to lock the door," Patricia continued morbidly. "But you shouldn't be forced to that in our neighborhood, right? Anyway, then I walked into the living room and turned on the TV, and then, like, five minutes later, _he _stormed in!"

Lawrence closed his eyes. _God, _he wanted Adam to bring his hands down to his lap again. Because right now, the need to feel that warm skin against his own was almost as big, as big and hot and mind-numbingly burning, as it had been in that alley. But at the same time, he wanted Adam in a completely different way than he'd done back then.

This way wasn't arousing.

This way wouldn't give him any salvation.

"He beat me down," Patricia choked out, then suppressed a fake sob. "With a wrench. And I passed out. And then, when I woke up..."

Up until now, the only sign that Adam had been listening at all had been that his eyes had gotten blacker and blacker by the second, and that his balled up little hands had been shaking in front of him, but at these words, his eyes, which were now merely two menacingly rumbling thunderclouds, were turned on Patricia and they looked at her through a film of insanely flashing lightning bolts, and Lawrence almost felt scared.

"Like _hell _I did!" Adam hissed in a terrible voice, and his fists opened up into two spasmodic claws that were bored into the bench. "I tied you to a pillar, but I didn't lay a damn hand on you!"

The judge banged her gavel into the bench with a sudden and terrifying movement.

"Wait for your turn, Mr. Faulkner!" she snapped.

"I _have _waited for my turn," Adam said furiously, aiming his flashing eyes at he evaluator and jumping to his feet. "I've been waiting twenty-eight fucking years to say this, and I won't shut up now. This fucking little bitch hasn't lifted a damn finger during all her life, and she'd be able to build her own little witness chair out of dollar bills! And she'd also be able to give two thirds of that chair to people who needed it more, and _believe _me, your honor, she'd _still_ get by!"

Patricia gasped and turned her mascara-striped face to Adam.

"How can you _say _that?" she whined before the judge managed to cut off again. "I'll _never _feel safe again! You... You ruined my life!"

Adam slowly, slowly faced her with his flashing eyes. And everything that he had never gotten, everything that no one had ever appreciated about him, everything in his life that hadn't turned out like it should have was written on his face. And Patricia quieted down immediately.

"_Really?__"_the young man growled, spitting out every syllable. "Then why don't you just take your daddy's credit card and run get a new one, little girl?"

Lawrence knew he should grab the kid's collar and pull him back down onto his chair. He knew he should tell Adam that if he used language like that, or did anything at all other than sit down and shut up, there would be no way they'd win this case.

But he wasn't going to.

He wasn't even going to try.

Because Adam was his own being now. Lawrence couldn't control him, no one could, because the kid was flowing in his own rage, his own fear, his own shattered expectations, his own crushed dreams, and everything else that had gone wrong and that he'd kept bottled up until now.

All of his weaknesses got stronger than anything else in that court room, everything that was broken in him turned into a wave that lifted him up, high, into the air. And Lawrence either didn't want to or couldn't bring him down from there.

"Mr. Faulkner!" the judge yelled, almost smashing the bench as she banged her gavel against it, attempting to control the crowd in the room, who had started muttering and whispering. Once the room had finally quieted down, the evaluator turned her stern eyes back onto the young man, who still stood, his fists clenched and his chest heaving as he struggled to calm himself.

"Mr. Faulkner," the judge said again, in a slightly more tranquil tone. "Please sit down. I understand that witnesses can be very frustrating, but I promise you that I will do my best to find out the truth in this court."

Adam stayed standing for a few moments, his eyes narrowed, as though he wasn't sure whether to believe the woman's words or not. Whether he did or not, though, the young criminal must have decided that it would be in his best interests to comply with the judge's request, so he sat down, and Lawrence began to breathe again.

"Miss Andersen," the evaluator turned her attention back to the young girl, whose eyes had just begun to sprout fake tears. "If Mr. Faulkner indeed assaulted you, as you claim, then I assume you have a police report and pictures of your injuries to back up your statement?"

Patricia's face seemed to fall at these words, and Lawrence found himself struggling to suppress a smirk. Damn, they were lucky to have gotten probably the only judge in the district who didn't take any bullshit.

"I... didn't think I'd need it," Patricia muttered, her heavily made-up face flushing slightly. The judge looked outraged.

"Where did you think you were coming today, miss Andersen? This is a _court_. If you're going to claim that the defendant assaulted you, I need proof."

"Well, I tried to get the police report," Patricia said, although it could not be more obvious that she was lying. "But they wouldn't give it to me."

"I don't believe you," the judge said tonelessly, and the young teenager looked shocked. This was probably one of the first times in her life that she'd been contradicted. Lawrence spared Adam a quick glance and saw that he, too, was trying hard not to look smug.

"Your honor, how can you _say_ that--" the wretched girl said, fake tears rolling down her face as she spoke. "He--"

"Be quiet!"

The judge's voice rang across the room, far louder than Patricia's had ever been. The majority of the contents of the room flinched at the sudden outburst.

"Miss Andersen," the woman said again, clearly struggling to speak in a calmer voice. "If our situations were reversed, and Mr. Faulkner had assaulted me, then I would have told the police that once I had called them. I happen to know for a fact that all you reported was your stolen property. You didn't mention anything about an assault. In fact, this is the first I'm hearing of one."

"W-Well--" Patricia began, but the judge had clearly had enough. Impatiently, she banged her gavel and made a dismissing gesture with her left hand.

"Stop wasting the court's time with your nonsense, Miss Andersen," she said, exasperated. "Sit down."

"But--" the teenager began, but was interrupted by a more insistent bang from the gavel.

"_Sit down_!"

With more fake tears and sobs, Patricia resumed her seat and was immediately comforted by an overweight man in a business suit who could only be her father. He glared, annoyed, at the judge, but didn't seem to feel his daughter was worth speaking up for.

"Now," the evaluator said in a slightly more calm voice. "Mr. Rails, please read out the next witness's name. And I warn everyone now; if you don't have any evidence to back up a statement, then leave that statement out."

"Yes, your honor," the bailiff said, struggling to suppress a grin. "Mr. Kelvin Stone, step up, please."

A young boy, around twelve or thirteen, who looked even less agreeable than the witness before him, got to his feet and slowly shuffled over to the required bench. The bailiff swore him and the judge cleared her throat slightly.

"Mr. Stone, your home... Well, your parents' home, was another one of Mr. Faulkner's targets, correct?"

The boy nodded, looking across at Adam as he did so. Once again, Lawrence could feel his lover's hatred almost burning through his skin, and the older man hoped that the delinquent would be able to contain his temper this time, because he was pretty sure that this witness would be just as bad as the previous one.

But he was wrong.

The judge's warnings seemed to have struck home, and since Kelvin apparently didn't have any police reports or photographs indicating injuries, the young boy didn't seem to dare to bring them up. He did have a police report, however, which his plump and red-faced mother handed to the bailiff to give to the judge.

There was a short silence as the woman scanned her eyes over the many sheets of paper, and afterward, her eyes fell on Adam, who was gripping the bench hard with his hands.

"Mr. Faulkner, did you threaten this boy with a gun?" she asked quietly.

A gasp of outrage ran up from the seats in the room as everyone who was ruling against the defendant fixed their eyes accusingly on the pale young man, sitting motionless at his bench.

"Yes," he muttered, his eyes resting on his hands. "Yes, I did."

The judge sighed theatrically and took her off glasses for a moment.

"And you're aware that threatening someone with a gun alone can be enough to give you five to eight years?"

Adam sighed, and Lawrence noticed with a small smile that he seemed to work hard not to roll his eyes.

"Yes, _your honor."_

And at these words, Adam's voice echoed from the back of Lawrence's head, the voice of a younger Adam, a more childish Adam, an Adam that for the first time in his life was forced to realize that what he was doing actually could have him arrested.

_"Fuck you,_officer_."_

And the funny thing was that by simply exchanging "officer" with "your honor," Adam made Lawrence realize, _really_ realize, the same thing. For the first time.

"Adam," Lawrence mumbled.

Adam looked at him from the corner of his eye. He noticed the hand that lay on his leg, open, helpless, waiting, and with the same expressionless face, the younger man slowly pulled his hand down from the desk, and grabbed Lawrence's again, filled him with some of his own strength, his own anger, his own stubborn pride, and made him warm on the inside, below his nervousness and fear.

The judge sighed again and fidgeted with her papers, like she was already bored with all these stupid little kids that ran around in her courtroom.

"And you still do it," she muttered. "That doesn't seem very bright, Mr. Faulkner. Anyway, let's move on... And then you stole this family's TV, stereo, DVD-player, a watch... And a jewelry box, is that correct?"

Adam's hand seemed to tighten its grip on Lawrence's, but his face didn't show a thing.

"Yes," he said, almost disturbingly plainly.

The judge sent him a nearly amused glance.

"Just out of curiosity," she continued, "how did you manage to get all those items out of the apartment without anyone noticing you while at the same time you pointed a gun at this boy?"

Adam looked at her, his eyes all black, and for a brief second, Lawrence was worried that he'd start yelling again.

"You think I'd make that up to spend as much time in your cozy little jail as possible?" he asked, mock dripping heavily from his voice. "I'm a pro, okay? _And_ left handed, _and_ all the windows were on the right side of the apartment, so I just loaded my right arm with the big stuff and put them down on the sidewalk outside the window, since the apartment was on the bottom floor, and held the gun in my left hand. Happy?"

The judge looked at him, her eyebrows raised. And Lawrence knew that she, just like himself, was too respectable, too proud to admit that she was impressed.

Adam wasn't a stupid little kid who had made the wrong choices in his life. He was a smart young man who had been born into the wrong family, the wrong body, the wrong life, and who hadn't gotten a chance to regain himself. And right then, in this one, frozen moment, Lawrence, the judge, and the whole courtroom, really, were more aware of that than ever.

At last, the evaluator cleared her throat and nodded to the boy in front of her.

"Thank you, Mr. Stone, you can go sit," she mumbled, and Kelvin complied, running gladly back to his mother, who sat glaring at Adam as though he were some kind of insect.

The witnesses continued to tell their stories, one by one. Luckily, no one tried to lie again -- Lawrence suspected that both Adam's and the judge's earlier tantrums had deterred them all from that -- but he still felt the hate seep like cold steam from Adam's little body at the mere sight of them.

It wasn't the first trial Lawrence had attended. He'd heard thousands of stories that were worse than the ones about Adam. But just the _amount_ of witnesses who were against the kid made him fairly sure that there'd been a mistake in the report he'd been given, which had said that Adam had only done seven burglaries. There were so many of them that after a while, the darkness was pressing against the window panes, and Adam, who still seemed nervous enough to stay sleepless for a whole night, leaned his head heavily in his hands and yawned widely.

"All right," the judge said loudly as another witness walked back to her seat. "We have to interrupt the trial here, at 00:38, March the first, 2007, and proceed at a time later given. Until then, Adam James Faulkner is condemned to staying in remand prison."

**WHAT?! No! NO! Adam's too cute for prison! Does anyone else sense the potential "prison rape-ness" of this situation, because I sure do! Well, anyway, you know how I love ending all my chapters on cliffhangers, so... R&R!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Yay! An update! Where we were last time, Adam had just been sentenced to remand prison until the case got started again by that bitch-Judge, who is obviously asexual, because any judge who had Adam in their court would be too aroused to sentence him to anything except making hot gay porn movies with Lawrence. But I digress! Here's the next chapter, and it's got some nice angst and hurt-comfort, which makes a nice change from all of that un-arousing court stuff. Sure, the court stuff is necessary for the plot, but no way in hell is it as important as the sex! Anyway, enjoy!**

For a moment, Lawrence thought he'd misheard the woman's words. But the cold feeling of dread that was rising in his stomach, the -- what felt like -- hundreds of satisfied glances from the witness's bench, and, worst of all, the horribly tight grip of Adam's hand on his, told the detective that he'd heard the sentence perfectly.

Dimly, he was aware of everyone slowly filing out of the room, talking in low voices as they did so, and eventually leaving the judge, the bailiff, himself, and his terrified lover as the only people in the room. Lawrence looked quickly beside him, and, even though he'd braced himself for it, the sight of Adam's ghostly white face, his wide, staring eyes, and his jaw, clenched forcefully in suppressed fear, made him almost sick.

"Y-Your honor," Lawrence called out, and he was horrified to hear just how desperate and pleading he really sounded.

The judge, who had been in deep conversation with the bailiff, turned to look at him, and for a moment, she almost appeared sympathetic. But the hard, stony look was back on her face so quickly that Lawrence could not be sure whether or not he had just imagined this.

"Officer Gordon?" she said, her words directed at him but her eyes focused on Adam.

Lawrence swallowed, feeling his nails digging hard into his companion's hand, which he still held under the bench, and forced himself to speak.

"Well... It's just... Ada... F-Faulkner, I mean. He was staying in the short-term holding cells in this station before. Couldn't he just keep staying there until this case is resolved?"

The evaluator's gaze shifted to Lawrence, who surprisingly felt no embarrassment. Once, he would have. If he had ever tried to stand up for someone -- not that he would have -- he wouldn't have felt too proud about it. He had always gone happily on his reputation of a "tough, emotionless badass," even if he hadn't enjoyed that kind of life. But at the moment, Lawrence felt no shame in asking such a question. He didn't want Adam to suffer. The kid had suffered enough. He may have done the wrong thing, but...

"Officer Gordon," the judge said, her expression unreadable. "Mr. Faulkner has committed crimes. The fact that he chose targets who deserved nothing less is beside the point. He broke the law. He needs to be punished."

Adam's hand was gripping Lawrence's so hard that it was surprising that the older man's entire hand hadn't come off. Lawrence gritted his teeth in anger.

"Faulkner hasn't been tried yet!" he burst out, surprising himself by this outburst just as much as he did everyone else. "You have no right--"

But the judge was unwilling to let him continue.

"I have no _right_?!" she repeated, sounding outraged. She jumped angrily to her feet while the bailiff looked on, his fists clenched as though he were expecting a fight to break out. "Officer Gordon, it is my job to decide what happens in this court. The trial will commence shortly, but until then, I believe that Mr. Faulkner deserves--"

"He doesn't deserve _anything_!" Lawrence screamed back, jumping to his feet also and extricating his hand from the younger man's as he did so. "He doesn't deserve anything, except a fucking medal! Those people he robbed... They didn't work for that money! Maybe if he'd _kept_ what he'd stolen, this trial might have some justice, but he _didn't_! He gave _every fucking penny_ he stole away to poorer families! He was living on the street in fucking rags when I found him! He was starving! He probably weighed less than a fucking _cat_!"

He was breathing hard now, his hands resting hard on the bench as all the blood rushed up to his face. The judge looked quite taken aback by this outburst, but she didn't lose her stamina, even for a moment. Sighing, she stepped down from her bench and stood so that she was directly in front of the man she was addressing. The bailiff hurried to stand beside her, obviously still worried that one of the two would snap and become violent.

"Officer Gordon..." the evaluator said quietly, and for a moment that almost-sympathetic look crossed her face again before she managed to suppress it. "Mr. Faulkner's cause was just. That doesn't mean that he did the right thing. He threatened a child with a gun. A _gun_, officer. No matter how spoiled or obnoxious that child might have seemed, he should never have been put into that situation."

Later, Lawrence wondered why he hadn't taken Adam's feelings into consideration. Well, more so than he had, at least. Because even though he opened his mouth to argue back, to tell the judge that Adam was a good person and that he would never hurt anyone, to say that he had felt things that he'd never thought he'd feel again, or be capable of feeling again, when he was with this person, he never got that chance.

It occurred to Lawrence later that he'd never really seen Adam cry. At the very least, he hadn't seen him break down completely. The kid had always seemed to have had some amount of self-control or hope stored away in him somewhere. But maybe that stash had run out. Maybe the despair that had weighed down on those tiny shoulders for so long had finally broken out.

Lawrence felt like his heart was breaking when he watched Adam -- sweet, adorable, innocent little Adam -- put his head in his hands and start to sob, his shoulders shaking and his concealed face falling as the tears fell endlessly from behind his closed eyes. He felt like a poisonous flame was burning its way through his own body, as though someone had set the insides of him on fire, because Lawrence knew, as much as he tried not to admit it, that he had brought the delinquent to this; he had been the one who had taken him in, arrested him, taken away his freedom. Every tear that Adam was shedding now was his fault.

Lawrence didn't even care that the judge and the bailiff were still watching, he didn't care that it was his reputation that had protected him for so many years, kept him from crumbling, just like Adam. He was no doubt expected to bring the criminal to the remand prison, since everyone else was gone and he was, after all, the most trusted and respected person in that building, even though he wasn't sure how he'd gotten that reputation in the first place.

Lawrence didn't care about any of this. He just sat down again and put his arms around the sobbing man, the sobbing man that he loved more than he had ever loved anyone else, and hugged him, holding his shaking body close to his as the young man cried. Whether he was crying out of fear, out of guilt, or both, he didn't know. And he didn't much care, either. Lawrence just wanted to make him feel better.

It was at times like these that Lawrence was truly thankful for having a friend like Jack. When he'd first immerged from the station, half-supporting an exhausted Adam in his own tired arms, the desk boy had been sitting in a police car, faithfully waiting for them. When Lawrence had sat down in the back of the car so as to be with Adam, who still lay against him, Jack hadn't asked any questions, just stared at them both through the rear-view mirror from time to time, his expression clearly sympathetic.

"There'll be another trial soon, Faulkner," Jack said quietly, when they had been driving in silence for about ten minutes.

Adam, whose face had been buried in his lover's chest, as though he were trying to block out the world, lifted his head slightly and gave Jack a sleepy smile.

"Thanks, Jack," he said, before retreating back into the safety of the older man's chest again.

Lawrence sighed, almost content. Maybe if it hadn't been half-past one in the morning and if they hadn't been on their way to lock an innocent man up with a bunch of murderers and rapists for an undetermined amount of time, it would have been a pleasant trip. The warmness of Adam's body against his and the soft sighs from Jack in the front of the car were comforting, as was the night sky and street-lit lamps that were visible as the three sped past.

"I'll make sure that bitch gets the case going again within days, Adam," Lawrence promised, running his fingers along that wonderfully thick hair as he spoke. "And I'll be with you every fucking visiting hour that that place is open. And I'll protect you. I promise you that."

He still would have said these words to Adam, still would have hugged him, still would have refused to handcuff him or restrain him in any way, still would have stroked his beautiful, perturbed face, even if it hadn't been Jack driving them. Hell, he would have been saying and doing the same things if _Grey_ had been driving them.

Lawrence wasn't sure how long the ride lasted. There was almost no traffic, since it was so late, so it shouldn't have been that long.

Maybe it was the combination of tiredness, nervousness, sorrow -- such awfully big sorrow -- and the feeling of not wanting the ride to end, the feeling that he wanted to sit there with Adam's body heat pressed against him for the rest of his life, that made it feel so long.

Yes. Lawrence was tired. Or, he _should've_ been tired. But in reality, he was really too nervous to be tired. And in reality, he was too remorseful to be nervous. Because every bump in the street that Jack ran over, every rhythmic click from the tires when they went over a particularly rough piece of gravel, said the same thing:  
_  
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._

Adam didn't seem very influenced, though. He'd been awake for the bigger part of the ride, and it was probably just the exhaustion from being anxious for a whole day, or the exhaustion from breaking down and crying like a baby, but once they had driven into the neighborhood that Lawrence had gone in and out of for the majority of his adult life, Adam was breathing calmly, his head was tipped to the side, and when Lawrence finally got the nerves to look at his relaxed, sleeping face, it literally felt like someone had torn his heart out of his body.

Because soon, that face would go away.

He'd have to give it up. He'd be forced to watch it disappear into a dark building, filled with people who had done much worse things than Adam, filled with people who wanted to hurt him.

The remand prison wasn't overly far from Lawrence's station. When they got there, there were already two cops outside the door, their handcuffs prepared and their faces cold. Jack sighed heavily and wound the car window down.

"Adam Faulkner," he said in an annoyed voice to one of the two. "You'll have him in a second. We just have to update him on some specifics."

The addressed cop nodded, and Jack wound the window up back again and sent Lawrence a quick glance through the rear-view mirror.

And that look tore the heart out of Lawrence's body once again. Because for the brief second that it lasted, Jack had time to tell his friend the only thing he _could_ tell him, the only thing that he could do right now and that he needed someone else to tell him, since he'd never be able to realize it himself.  
_  
Say goodbye, Lawrence._

Yes. That was the only thing Lawrence could do.

For the first time of his life, he was completely powerless.

"Adam," Lawrence mumbled and shook Adam slightly. "Wake up."

Adam cringed in displeasure, and Lawrence understood him. He didn't want his lover to wake up, either. It was quite the opposite. He wanted to lie down with him and fall asleep on the car seat, protect him, protect him from the world and everything in it that could hurt him. If only for a second.

But Adam still opened his eyes hazily.

"We're here," Lawrence said, and tried to keep the tears out of his voice.

Adam looked around confusedly for a few seconds before his gaze landed on the two policemen outside his tinted window. And then, a look of painful realization spread over his face.

"Oh..." he said slowly, and straightened up. "Right..."

"Adam," Lawrence said quietly, putting a hand on his arm. "I... I'll be there as much as I can. All the time. I promise."

"Okay," Adam said, and just like when Lawrence had talked to him when he had had that fever, he got the feeling that he only half-understood what he was saying.

"And I..."

Lawrence swallowed and bowed his head.  
_  
Keep it down, just keep it down..._

But he couldn't. The tears were rolling, big and heavy, down his cheeks. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Adam was the first one in ten years who could make him feel. Of course he'd be the first one to make him cry, too.

"I'll... I'll never let anything happen to you," Lawrence murmured, clenching one hand over his mouth to suppress a sob. "Never. I promise."

Adam smiled weakly. The reality seemed to catch up with him now, too. But he smiled. And Lawrence felt, with another stab in his already trashed heart, that he wouldn't be able to live without him.

"I can take care of myself," Adam said quietly.

Lawrence smiled through the tears.

"Sure. There're guys in there with necks as big as your waist. You won't last five minutes without me."

Adam chuckled, and Lawrence could swear that he saw Jack smile wearily through the tiredness in the front seat.

But Adam's smile faded away quickly when the older man cupped his chin in his hand and pulled him into a gentle kiss, a kiss of misery and despair and goodbye, sure, but still a kiss, still reassurance, still the best kind of farewell they could ever have.

But they still had to stop. And Adam pulled back and looked at the cops that were waiting for him. Still.

"God bless tinted windows, huh..." he mumbled insecurely, and Lawrence smiled again.

"You have to get out now," Jack broke in from the front. "Good luck in there, Faulkner."

Adam rolled his eyes, but obediently opened the car door.

"My name is Adam," he said with a plainness that the circumstances shouldn't even have allowed.

And then, the door was shut.

Lawrence didn't even want to watch when the cops outside handcuffed Adam again. When they led him into that horrible, dark building, perhaps never to see the light of day again.

Okay. The worst part was over.

Only the second-worst part left. Only one more dreadful thing that Lawrence had to go through that day.

"Jack," he said softly, and leant forward.

**Aw, poor Adam. He's so cute, is it any wonder that I put him through all this? He's just so adorable when he's upset! So all of the angst he's going through in this fic is his fault. Maybe he shouldn't have been so cute, then none of this would have happened. Anyway... Yeah, lots of things coming up in the next few chapters, so look forward to them! And, as always, R&R! Or... Or else!**


	23. Chapter 23

**GASP! An update! That means the world must be coming to an end, like in that stupid new movie that's been advertised, 2012! I wonder why they're making it now and not in the year 2012? My guess is because the morons behind the movie are so stupid, they actually think the world IS going to end in 2012, and so they're hoping to enjoy three or so years of the anticipated luxury that the movie is going to bring before they die. Uh... Anyway. I'm getting way off track, aren't I? In this chapter, Adam... NO! Adam isn't in this chapter! That means this chapter is filler! FILLER! Well, I did say I was going to make this fic plotty, but still... No Adam?! *Cries.***

**23. Let The Right Ones In**

Jack shook his head roughly and gunned the engine of the car, turning his head away from the sight of the delinquent's retreating body.

"Let's get out of here first," he said in an undertone. "We'll get out of here, go into my office, even though it's not as nice as yours, and have some coffee or cakes or something, and you can tell me whatever it is that you want to tell me."

Lawrence hesitated for a moment, then nodded, leaning back in his seat again. He couldn't believe how cold the back of the car was without Adam.

The ride back to the office was relatively silent. Before he could tell Jack anything, Lawrence was left with his thoughts, and after a while, they were miserable enough to make him forget all about the other man, and Jack seemed, for the first time in twenty years, too dazed to talk at all.

That never happened to him. Lawrence dealt with emotionality by suppressing it until he couldn't even feel it anymore, and Jack dealt with it by making jokes. It was who they were. What made them fit together.

That thought actually split through the endless film of ones about Adam, and Lawrence had to lift his chin out of his hand and look at the back of the head in front of him.

Lawrence wouldn't make it as a cop if he couldn't work with Jack. He hadn't realized that before. Maybe because the thought scared the hell out of him. Because it for the first time made him realize what a risk he was at right now. If Jack wasn't okay with him and Adam, he didn't know what to do. He'd just sort of assumed that this would come down the way he wanted, because that was how it had always did ended up. Once.

The insight that it didn't always now was such a shock that Lawrence couldn't think properly about Adam until they got to the station again, which seemed to take much longer than it had to reach the prison.

Once they'd arrived back, Jack stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut like he was in a hurry, and Lawrence basically had to run after him. The station was almost empty, and Jack acted just like all the cops did when they were at a station at one-thirty AM. All cops but him.

Like he felt nothing at all.

That thought scared Lawrence even more. So much so that when they were walking down the hall to Jack's office, he had to ask.

"Jack."

"Yeah?" Jack answered without looking at him.

"Are we okay?"

Jack didn't answer straight away. When he'd started fumbling with the keys to his office door, Lawrence wanted to ask him again, pick him up and shake the fucking answer out of him if he had to. Jack sighed, like he was disappointed with himself, and unlocked his door.

"If we've made it twenty years despite you being who you are, I really don't see how we could cave at this," he muttered, and kicked the door open.

It was stupid, of course. But Lawrence still felt a wave relief much bigger than what he could ever show to Jack when he sat down in front of his desk, with Jack on the other side, confused, of course, but still determined.

Determined to get some sense out of something that not even Lawrence could understand.

"Trust me," Jack said after a few seconds of silence, "I don't need the details. As painful as it is, that one image of you two on top of your desk is stuck in my head forever. So all I need to know is how the hell you even managed to work up enough human feelings to want him, and why the hell it was him in the first place."

Lawrence smiled slightly, despite the still-lingering feelings of anxiety in him. He smiled because he didn't quite know himself why it had been Adam. He knew he loved him now, sure, but why he'd chosen a criminal of all people to let out his gay aggressions on in the first place was as much a mystery to him as it was to his friend. Maybe he just hadn't been able to hold out anymore, denying who he really was, what he really wanted, and Adam had just been the first in line to receive the full blow of his unleashed "gayness." Whatever the reason, it didn't matter now.

But still, Lawrence told Jack everything, starting from when he'd first met the kid in that dark alley. What he'd felt for him had been nothing more than desire, he'd thought, but once the two of them had done... _that_, and the blinding lust had disappeared, Lawrence had been forced to face his other feelings, too, which had previously been hidden by the _other_ things.

"I didn't like it, Jack," the older man sighed, lifting his the bitter coffee that his companion had poured for them to his lips and taking a long sip. "Adam made me feel things that I hadn't felt since... Well, since _ever_."

"See, that I could tell," Jack said, and Lawrence felt something loosening up inside him when he saw that sly grin again. "I can't remember walking in on you doing that to Allison."

"But you wish you had, don't you?" Lawrence shot back, feeling their old relationship rushing back faster than he thought it would. "Hell, I wouldn't put it past you to hear the moaning from my office and thinking I was in there with a girl. I bet that's why you came in there in the first place!"

Jack laughed shyly, and blushed even though Lawrence knew he already had a comeback ready.

"Lawrence, I know you have your sick fantasies, but you and I..." he gestured feebly between them. "Man, I love you, but... It would never work! No matter who I walked in on you with!"

Lawrence threw his head back and laughed as loud as he dared, considering the few cops that were still around didn't really want any big noise. Jack smirked mischievously, too, but it faded soon, and Lawrence guessed he had something else he wanted to bring up.

"How many times did you guys...?" the inferior asked quietly, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment as he stared down at the ham and cheese sandwiches and cakes he'd brought out along with the coffee.

Lawrence smiled, despite himself, and put his empty coffee cup down on Jack's desk, which was nowhere near as nice as his.

"You pervert," he scoffed, with fake indigence. But he decided to answer when the desk boy opened his mouth to retort. "A few. In the alley, in the interrogation room, in the storage room that Adam ran off to when he escaped, in the jail cell, and..."

"In your office?" Jack finished for him, then grinned. "Damn, Lawrence. That's five times. You two must have been really horny, huh?"

"Oh, shut up," the detective muttered, his face going even redder as he reflected on those times. Those... _wonderful_ times. "Just be happy you didn't walk in on us while we were doing _that_."

"Oh, I'm happy about that, Lawrence, believe me," Jack said feelingly. "I don't think I would have been able to sleep ever again if I'd seen you two..."

He trailed off as his superior teasingly raised his eyebrows, as though daring him to continue his sentence. Instead, Jack contended himself with scoffing down the last remaining sandwiches on his plate, then starting on the cakes, which looked and tasted like they were a few centuries old.

Lawrence watched him for a few moments, but his smile soon faded as he imagined Adam, locked in a building with hundreds of sick bastards who would probably not hesitate to do anything to him. Some of them had nothing to lose, after all. Jack saw his friend's expression and hurriedly reached out a hand that was stained with the chocolate from the cake he'd been eating and grabbed Lawrence's shoulder.

"He'll be okay," he said gently, and Lawrence nodded slightly, averting his gaze as he did so. "You said you'd keep an eye on him every visiting hour, and he can just stay in his cell when you're not there, right? And I'll talk to Erika and make sure she gets Faulkner's case back up and running as soon as possible."

Lawrence nodded again and gave his companion a grateful, sleepy smile.

"Thanks, Jack," he said. He pulled his shoulder away and stood up, stretching his arms up above his head as he yawned. "Call him "Adam," by the way. I don't think he likes his last name."

Jack scoffed and stood up also.

"Who would? His last name sucks. It doesn't suit him at all."

Lawrence chuckled and walked over to the door, struggling with the stubborn knob that never seemed to give way when he tried it.

"Well, I'm turning in for the night. I'll sleep in my office, since I'm really not in the mood to see Allison, and Diana's sleeping at a friend's house. You'd better get home, though. I'm sure Ruth will be worrying about you."

Jack nodded and walked over to the door, too.

"Okay. But I'll be here tomorrow, just as soon as I wake up."

"Probably about five o'clock in the afternoon, then," Lawrence laughed sarcastically, still jingling the knob vainly.

Jack reached the door, pushing his superior aside and grabbing the knob himself.

"Hey, up yours, Lawrence," he said with fake irritation. "It takes a lot of beauty sleep to be as hot as I am. That's probably why Adam sleeps so much, too. You should follow our example."

The older man chuckled as his coworker finally succeeded in forcing the knob all the way round and pushed the door open, but all the humor in his expression immediately disappeared when he saw who was standing just outside the door, straightening up as though he had just had his ear to the thin wood. Jack's smile vanished, too, and for a few moments, he and Lawrence just stood there, rigid with horror as they focused on the man who had been eavesdropping on them.

Vincent Grey.

Jack slowly opened his mouth as all the color in his body seemed to rush to his face. Lawrence couldn't even do that.

He was empty.  
_  
Grey. Your boss. He heard you say it. He heard your story. He heard everything._

Grey looked at them both with cold eyes, eyes of steel, clear and cold like Adam's, but completely without his charm.  
_  
He heard._

All of Lawrence's blood seemed to gather up in his head, lay there and throbbed, boiled, threatened to explode within him.

"Sir--" Jack began, but Grey seemed to have waited for either one of them to say something just to cut them off.

"Jack," he said with a voice just as cold as his eyes. Tiny icicles were dangling of his words. "Stay here. Lawrence, come with me."

Lawrence nodded.

_He heard. You know what he's going to do, don't you?_

_No?_ Lawrence replied as he followed Grey down the corridor.  
_  
Yeah, you do. Grey's the only one in the entire core that has made it longer than you, and you know why?_  
_  
Shut up. Please. I can't deal with this right now._

But the voice didn't listen. The voice didn't show him any mercy then, it never had, it never would.  
_  
He's made it further than you because he's even more ruthless. He won't listen if you tell him how much you love Adam. He won't care._

He'll fire you.  
_  
You'll go back to where you came from, Lawrence. Grey will make sure you do._

Lawrence walked in the door that Grey held open for him as he felt the big block of ice-terror crushing him.  
_  
No. He won't. He can't. I won't go back there, fuck if I'm going back there!_

"Sit," Grey said in a clipped tone and pointed to the same chair that Lawrence had been sitting on the last time he was in there, when he'd found out what Adam did with his money.

Lawrence sat down hesitatingly. He knew what would come.

"Lawrence," Grey said, resting his hands on his desk, "I'll cut to the chase. You're putting me in a difficult position. You're a damn good cop. I don't want to fire you, but I don't want you here if you do that with all your prisoners."

Lawrence looked at him in a way that he hoped wasn't too killing.

"You know I don't," he said and moved a little closer to the desk. "It was just with Adam. He was different."

Grey raised his hand, annoyed.

"Spare me," he muttered. "I've heard enough about what you and Faulkner did. Either way, I hope you understand that I can't let you be in the next trial."

Lawrence had already understood that. On some level, he'd already understood that. But at the same time... Whatever he had expected Grey to say, that wasn't it. Because the block of ice that weighed him down, destroyed him, smothered him, was suddenly on his neck, broke it, and he couldn't breathe.

Adam in the courtroom. Alone. No one there to testify for him. No one there to tell everyone what an amazing person he was. No one to hold his hand. He'd be alone.

"What?" Was the only thing Lawrence managed to croak out.

Grey sent him a tired look.

"Lawrence," he said wearily, "it's two o'clock AM. Don't tell me I have to explain something to a grown man that a six year-old could understand."

"But..." Lawrence stuttered, but Grey cut him off.

"If I let you go there, you'll testify for him, right?"

"Yes, of course," Lawrence said, and leant forward, "but..."

"The judge listens to you," Grey interrupted again. "If you say Faulkner is innocent, she'll need convincing, sure. But she will let him go. And I won't let a criminal go free just because you've got a thing for him."

Those words were all that was needed. All the fear, all the deterrent melted away, and was replaced with something big and flaming, red and sparkling, a big, hot ball that filled Lawrence's chest.

Anger.

This fucker wouldn't lock Adam up. Adam wouldn't fall for this hand. Not a chance.

"I would've testified for Adam whether I loved him or not," he hissed, barely noticing how he stood up so violently that his chair almost tipped over. "He gave that money to people that fought for it, but still didn't get it. And he--"

_"Would_ you, Lawrence?" Grey said mockingly, his cold eyes turning into slits that penetrated his inferior, scouted his sore spots. _"Would_ you stand up for a criminal if he didn't pleasure you?"

Lawrence slowly opened his mouth. He even formed words with it, but nothing came out. Grey's words had stolen his own, they'd pressed the breath out of him, just because they were so true.

If this question had been about someone other than Adam, Lawrence would've locked him up without a second thought. And Lawrence knew it, too.

"We both know what kind of cop you were before I signed this case on you," Grey said with a smirk.

Lawrence kept opening and closing his mouth. Words had deserted him, none were left, except for a weak, pitiful:

"I've changed."

Grey slowly shook his head.

"You've fallen in love. You haven't changed."

Lawrence laughed under his breath, though there was no humor in his voice when he spoke.

"Okay, I haven't changed," he said sarcastically. "I'm in love. But that doesn't change the fact that I think Adam is a good person. I mean, even _you_ thought his motives could lesson his sentence, didn't you?"

Grey waved his hand dismissively, as though he'd forgotten all about his previous statement up until now.

"Yes, I did think that," he said quietly, his eyes cold. "But Erika isn't biased, so I didn't have to worry. Not to mention, Faulkner didn't have a lawyer to speak up for him. All he had was himself, and damn, that was funny. How do you plead, Faulkner? Uh... I _burgled_ the places, so I guess I'm guilty."

Grey put on a high-pitched, whining voice when he imitated Adam, and Lawrence felt himself clenching his fists in anger.

"He won't need to speak up for himself next time," he almost snapped back, thumping the table hard with one of his hands.

Still struggling to control himself enough so that he wouldn't lose it and pummel Grey with his bare hands, Lawrence made his way stiffly to the almost marble-like door of his boss's office.

"_I'll_ be speaking up for him, whether I have your permission or not."

The detective smirked slightly and turned so that he was once again facing the old man.

"And if you try to stop me from going, I'm sure lovely miss Erika will want to know why. And what will you say to her? "I don't want Lawrence going because he might clear the defendant?" With all due respect, you're pathetic, sir."

Without bothering to wait for an answer, Lawrence roughly yanked open the door and stepped out, slamming it moodily shut behind him. Although he was fairly certain of what he'd said -- Grey wouldn't dare try to sound biased in front of the judge -- he still didn't doubt that his boss would attempt to do _something_ to mess things up. He'd probably attempt to bring his and Adam's relationship out into the open. But would he do that without any proof?

Lawrence didn't know much about Grey, even though he'd been his boss even before he'd graduated from police accadamey, but he knew that the old man was practical. He wouldn't want to make himself look stupid by spreading accusations about a trusted employee without any proof. But that was what worried the detective. Grey _had_ proof. Not of him and Adam, but he still had some idea of what Lawrence had been like before he'd become a policeman, the sort of life he'd had to lead.

Although _that_ didn't have any consequence to the situation and definitely wouldn't hurt Adam's case, Lawrence still didn't want anyone to know. Grey might throw it out there just to spite him, to make him look bad, and to break down the solid barrier of secrecy that his employee had built up over the years.

He'd never told anyone in his current life about the kind of things he'd done in the past, other than Grey, and that was only because he'd found out. The two of them had met previously, and Lawrence had been in... _that_ life when they had. The old man had promised not to tell anyone, to let Lawrence put his past behind him. But now...

No one else knew. Not Allison or Diana, not Jack... Hell, he hadn't even told _Adam_, the man he loved. Maybe it was about time he did. It was better he found out from him than from someone else, if the secret were to get out into the open. Besides, his story related to the younger man's in a way that might even have deepened their relationship.

Lawrence nodded, as though he'd made up his mind, and made his way determinedly back to Jack's office.

* * *

"Lawrence, are you okay? Did Grey--" Jack began anxiously, the moment his friend was back in his office. Even through his tiredness and worry, the older man still couldn't help smiling. The desk boy looked exhausted. There were deep shadows under his eyes and lines running across his usually-so-smooth forehead. Even though Lawrence doubted he looked much better, he still felt happy that Jack had waited up for him, unwilling to go home until he'd heard the news.

"It's fine, Jack," he muttered, rubbing his eyes and struggling to suppress a yawn. "He doesn't have any proof. Not yet. I'm still going to be testifying at the trial."

The younger man hesitated for a moment, biting his lip in worry, but then he obviously decided that Lawrence would have no reason to lie to him. That, or he was just so tired that he didn't care anymore.

"Well, I'll be going home, then," he said, giving his coworker a sleepy smile. "You'll be visiting Adam the moment the jail lets in visitors, won't you?"

Lawrence smiled.

"Yeah. And I won't be leaving until visiting hours have finished," he replied softly. "It's the least I can do."

Jack nodded slowly and touched his friend's shoulder briefly.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Like I said, I'll be talking to Erika. She and my wife are friends. Plus, I think she was pretty sympathetic of Adam. She knows _why_ he robbed the houses, right?"

"Yeah," Lawrence said, feeling a little more strength surge into him at this thought. "And Grey said that she'd probably listen to me. So I think it'll be okay."

Jack nodded again and smiled, backing out of the door slightly as he did so.

"It'll be fine, Lawrence. I'll see you tomorrow, when you get back from visiting Adam. I'd go too, but I think you guys could use some "alone time," if you get my drift."

"Oh, go to Hell, Jack," the other man chuckled, pretending to hit his friend with his open palm. "Go home and have some "alone time" with Ruth."

"Hey, not a bad idea," Jack said, and grinned. He stepped out of his office, followed closely by his coworker.

The two walked down a few corridors together, talking quietly about nothing in particular, until they reached Lawrence's office. The older man was happy not to have run into Grey while they had been walking.

"Well, good night," Jack said, smiling warmly as his friend walked wearily into his office, which he'd probably slept in just as much, if not more than, his own home.

"Night, Jack," he replied tiredly, before closing and locking his office door.

He stood thinking for a few moments, listening to Jack's fading footsteps down the empty corridor, then sighed and brought out some sheets from the glamorous cupboard in one corner of the room. He spread them out carelessly on the soft carpet, then lay down on top of them, groaning in weariness as he attempted to get comfortable.

It was a quarter to three by the time the detective finally fell asleep.

**No Adam! That was so painful to write! I mean, sure, Lawrence is cute, too, but he and Adam are like yin and yang! They HAVE to be together, or they just don't make sense! Ah, well. Adam will be in the next chapter, and hopefully before long another sex-scene will come up. It's been, like, three or four chapters since the last one, after all! Anyway, as usual, R&R! ^_^**


	24. Chapter 24

**As I said in Between Love And Hate, it****'****s been, like, six months since I updated! I****'****m sorry, everyone! To repeat, I****'****m not dead, I****'****m still a pervert with a lot of stuff to get out in Fanfiction-form, and I****'****ll be updating faster from now on to make up for the lack of updates. Now, onto this chapter!**

**24. Reunion**

Lawrence was amazed that he managed to drive the car as well as he did. He'd never owned his own car, since his job always allowed him to use a spare police vehicle, and although they were smooth, they were not all identical, and if one was forced to drive a 2001 model one day after driving a 2008 one, it could be very disorientating.

Also, the detective had a lot on his mind. He'd tried to make his brain focus only on seeing Adam - holding him, kissing him... - but unwelcome thoughts and memories of Grey kept slipping into his mind. He really didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't stop himself. He'd wanted to talk to Adam about this, and it would have been nice if his thoughts had at least managed to stay out of his head until the jail opened for visitors. But they didn't.

Lawrence clenched his teeth and looked at the digital clock above the car's speed monitor. Eight o'clock. Still another hour to go. Despite what he'd said, the detective didn't particularly want to wait outside the jail for a whole hour. Waiting was something he was very bad at, and being in such a quiet place would force his mind to wander again. So, he changed course about halfway to his destination and drove himself into town, instead.

He hadn't really had any plans, but a quiet rumbling in his stomach reminded Lawrence that he hadn't really eaten anything decent in days. The last thing he'd eaten had been those stale cakes and sandwiches in Jack's office, and that had been yesterday. Figuring it'd help to pass the time, which was crawling by extremely slowly, Lawrence steered the car into a Burger King drive thru and ordered himself a generous meal of five hash browns and a pancake deal.

Despite the tenseness of the situation, the detective was ravenous. He scoffed the hash browns, too quickly to enjoy their strangely salty taste, shoved the pancakes into his mouth without even bothering to put the syrup and butter on them first, then washed it all down with some black coffee. Now, cleaning his teeth had been completely pointless. Lawrence found himself smiling as he imagined kissing Adam next. The kid would be sure to taste the junk food that his lover had consumed.

The smile soon faded, however, when Lawrence pictured Adam, sitting alone in his cell, exhausted and miserable. He didn't even want to think about the kind of things that _he_ was having to eat. He glanced at the clock again. To his relief, it now read "8:30." By the time the older man got to the jail, visiting hours would probably just be starting.

By the time Lawrence got there, it was actually a quarter past nine. Cursing himself for his slowness, the detective hurriedly parked his car and stepped out. The police officers guarding the heavily-built front door of the building were more than happy to let him pass. They didn't even ask him to show them his badge. Maybe they recognized him by reputation.

A security guard greeted Lawrence once he'd made it to the main office, asked him who he was there to see, and once the other man had told him, nodded and began to lead the visitor down multiple corridors. Neither of them spoke. Lawrence was gritting his teeth nervously. It hadn't even been twenty four hours since he and Adam had been separated, and already the worry churning in his stomach was threatening to bring up the extremely unhealthy breakfast he'd eaten.

The security guard led Lawrence into a high security room and showed him to a cell on the far right. He carefully unlocked the door and the detective walked in. The guard then locked the door again and told the visitor to use the speaker to contact them when he wanted to be let back out. Lawrence barely heard him.

The cell was small, even smaller than the ones back at the station. It had a desk and chair, fixed into the wall, an empty bookcase, a grimy toilet and basin fixed to the opposite side of the wall, a small, bedside set of draws, and a bed. No security camera. A door to the back of the cell linked the room to the prisoner's kitchen, eating quarters, and exercise area, though it was currently locked.

But the room itself didn't interest Lawrence. No. What interested him was the tiny bundle, curled into a tense little ball, asleep on the hard prison bed.

_Adam..._

God, Lawrence really was a sissy. He felt like a five year-old who refused to let go of his father's leg. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Just like the filthy room he was in, all of his self-critical thoughts melted away, and were absorbed in Adam's sound asleep figure on the bed.

Lawrence walked slowly over to the bed. The anxious part of him told him to wake the smaller man up, _shake_ him if it made him wake up faster, but the rational part of him... Damn, it wanted to stand there and stare at the guy for the rest of its life.

Adam's legs were folded beneath him. He looked like he had when Lawrence had found him sleeping in the storage room - at that thought, and at the sight of a scar that still, after all that happened between now and then, remained on Adam's jaw line, Lawrence felt guilt well up in him - but now, he'd tipped over. His slim arms clutched desperately to his pillow, like a child with a stuffed animal.

Lawrence knelt and looked at Adam's relaxed, and so _awfully_ handsome face.  
_  
Like a child who needs someone to comfort him, but who doesn't have anyone._

Lawrence reached out his hand and stroked the kid's cheek. Adam shifted his legs a little, but he didn't wake up.  
_  
Adam... I'm sorry... I failed you, I wasn't here when you needed me, not here when I should've been. But I'm here now, I'm with you, and I'll never leave you again..._

Lawrence kept caressing Adam's cheek with the back of his hand. Finally, Adam grunted and stretched himself, rolled over to his back before he finally opened his eyes. Lawrence smiled when he saw Adam's almost surprised expression.

"Hey there," he mumbled, still caressing his lover's face. Adam grinned sleepily and rolled over to his side again.

"Hey, man."

Lawrence's smile slowly faded away. He put his hand on the back of Adam's neck, pulling him towards himself and and kissing him gently.  
_  
You'd think you'd be a little more enthusiastic after thinking about him for the past twenty-four hours._

Lawrence drew his hand through Adam's hair as he felt his soft, wet tongue sliding into his mouth.  
_  
I figured I'd give him a break. The kid just woke up._

Adam was still smiling when the detective pulled back.

"You've had pancakes," he said, and rubbed his left eye with his one hand.

Lawrence couldn't stop himself from chuckling lightly at this.

"I knew you'd notice," he murmured, running his hand along the nape of his lover's neck. Adam grunted in a tired kind of pleasure, lifting his arms slightly and embracing the older man back.

Lawrence went back to kissing him, savoring that wonderfully familiar taste of tobacco and saliva as he attacked the inside of the criminal's mouth with his tongue. Adam kissed him back, tiredly at first, but gradually becoming more and more eager. Lawrence let the younger man pull him onto the bed beside him, and didn't resist as he impatiently, almost violently, clawed at their shirts.

Lawrence moaned quietly at the feeling of Adam's rough hands pressing up against his sensitive skin, and deepened their kiss, moving his free hand down under the thin shirt of the other man and stroking the hardened nipples that he found there. With his other hand, he still caressed the back of the delinquent's neck, pushing their heads more closely together.

Slowly, almost subconsciously, Lawrence began to move his body from beside Adam to on top of him, not interrupting their gestures for a moment. When the older man pulled away briefly to give his lover a few passionate nibbles along the side of his neck, Adam muttered, his voice hoarse with arousal:

"You always have to be on top, don't you..."

Lawrence smiled warmly and brushed his fingertips suddenly along the younger man's left nipple. Adam clenched his teeth at this, and arched his back slightly.

"Jesus Christ, man..." he gasped, gripping his companion hard with his trembling arms.

Lawrence continued sucking at Adam's collarbone for a few more seconds, before he returned to his mouth. This time, their lips connected even more fervently than before, almost enough to hurt. Lawrence's tongue was intertwined with Adam's, and his touches were becoming more bold and interment. The criminal could do nothing but hug his lover close to him and make pathetic attempts to match the passion with which Lawrence was kissing him.

Adam's body continued to tremble, as though he hadn't ever been touched like this in his life. Lawrence continued to move his right hand farther and farther down the tiny body, eventually reaching his shorts. Adam, who had had his eyes squeezed tightly shut in a mixture of pleasure and anticipation, hurriedly came to himself and grabbed his lover's hand, forcing it away from the lower part of his body.

"Don't," he moaned into the kiss, as though his words were causing him great pain. Lawrence pulled his mouth away and regarded his companion with confusion. Adam sighed.

"Not here, Lawrence. Not now. Someone will notice. We need to wait until..."

Adam bit into his bottom lip, unable to continue. Lawrence hesitated for a few moments, then regretfully climbed off the younger man and seated himself on the side of his bed. Adam pulled himself into a sitting position also and wrapped his hands around the other man's neck, burying his face lovingly into his soft, blond hair. Lawrence turned himself around slightly so that he was directly facing his friend, and gently grabbed and separated his hands from his neck. Adam lifted his face out of the refuge of his lover's hair and looked at him skeptically. Lawrence sighed heavily.

"Adam," he said, moving his and the delinquent's hands down so that they were resting in their laps, still entwined.

_You can do this. Tell him. Tell him and get it over with._

Taking a deep breath and locking his eyes firmly with the younger man's, Lawrence said:

"I need to tell you something."

**HUH! I made you think there'd be sex in this chapter, didn't I? Sorry. XD Don't worry; there'll be more sex very soon. Writing an Adam/Lawrence story without lots of sex is like driving a car without a gear-changer; the whole thing just turns into a violent mess... Or something. Also, why do I always have to end my fics on cliffhangers? Because I****'m a bitch, of course! Come on, I haven't had the fun of cliffhangers for over six months! Let me enjoy them, and be sure to R&R! XD**


	25. Chapter 25

**WHEEE! I love this fic! It has PLOT, which makes a pervert like me so proud! And, you know, this chapter has LAWRENCE-ANGST in it! OMG! And it's a huge revaluation, too! So if anyone cares about the plot of this fic (XD), I'm sure they'll be quite surprised!**

**Oh, and once again... I am SO sorry for the delay! I blame Leigh Whannell and Cary Elwes. That's just yet another reason for me to rape them once I've kidnapped them, huh? XD**

**25. Relive the Past**

Adam looked up from their hands, which both lay in Lawrence's lap, and bored his grey eyes into the other man's with a suspiciousness that almost scared him.

_"What_?" He snapped in a harsh voice. Lawrence pulled their hands apart again and drew his index finger over Adam's palm in that gentle, tickling way that, no matter how much it bothered the kid, would calm him down, always, no matter how upset he was.  
_  
He's never heard anyone saying anything good when they want to talk to him like this,_ Lawrence thought in despair when he felt Adam's hand soften in his. _He probably thinks that I'm going to tell him I'm leaving him, that Allison is more important._ The very absurdity of such a claim almost made the older man laugh out loud.

"It's nothing like that, Adam," he muttered, lifting the delinquent's hand gently to his cheek. "It's something else. It's not about you."

Adam sent his hand a skeptical glance before he allowed his tensed shoulders to relax with a sigh, like he'd surrendered. Like there wasn't any point fighting against Lawrence.

"Lean your back against the wall," he said dejectedly, beckoning to Lawrence to turn around.

Lawrence smiled weakly and did as he was told. Adam moved closer to him, still with an almost amusingly grumpy face, and laid his head against his chest, listening to Lawrence's heartbeats, listening to his breathing, and sucking in the warmth he'd missed so much.

Lawrence smiled into Adam's hair. He wasn't as nervous as he should have been about this, really. He just didn't know how Adam would react. Only that he _would_ react.  
_  
And how will_ you _handle this, Lawrence?_ the cold little voice said softly. _You haven't told anyone about this. Not even Allison. Will you even be able to finish the story?_

Yes. I will. Because he has to know it.

So Lawrence opened his mouth and inhaled deeply.

"You have to know why I... In that alley..."

God, he couldn't even finish the damn sentence.

Adam chuckled. He seemed to have relaxed a bit now.

"The story of how you raped me?" he said sleepily, and looked up at Lawrence. "That's not about me? That's cold, man."

Lawrence blushed briefly.

"Well, okay. But... It was just that... I saw myself... in you."

Adam cut him off with a loud cackle.

"Could you really _see_ that? I have see-through hips?"

Lawrence had really tried to stay serious, but now, he had to laugh out loud and slap Adam's forehead playfully.

"Drop it, you fucking sex-addict! No, it wasn't like that, it was... It was before that. I hadn't realized it until afterwards. But it was... You don't get it."

No. Adam didn't get it. How could he get it?

How would Lawrence even be able to _explain_ how it was to see a twenty-eight year-old who looked barely older than a teen - a confused, bitter, dirty, rough little kid - standing in his leather jacket and trying to scrape the gunk off of the bricks of his makeshift hideout, and see that _he'd_ been that kid?

"Of course I don't get it if you shut up," Adam snapped, squeezing Lawrence's knee. "I'm not psychic. Go on."

Lawrence took another deep breath.

"It was just weird," he said, raking his hand through Adam's hair. "It was just an ordinary day. I'd gotten the case, and I went to the place I was tipped about - Jack would've followed me, but I wanted to do it myself - and even though I didn't expect to see anyone special there, I noticed this unusual, young little criminal in that alley..."

He laughed again when Adam's cheeks took on a strong color of crimson.

"You're not even an adult, or... You don't look like one, so imagine my surprise when I realized how fucking hot you were. So I jumped out and forced you down on your back, and you gave me that killing look you can do sometimes... And then I just realized that _I _had been that kid. Even though I'd tried to forget it."

Adam seemed to tense in his arms. His gaze was flickering, his mouth was slightly open, and just like Lawrence had done when he'd found out what Adam did with all of his money, he could see one puzzle piece after another come together, one by one, in the kid's newly-awakened brain.

"You... You used to be...?" Adam began hoarsely, and Lawrence felt his entire body go limp against his. He smiled bitterly.

"Yeah," he said, sighing heavily as all those unwelcome memories came flooding back into his head once more. "I used to steal too, Adam. Except I was much worse. I did it for spite; you only did it because you wanted to help others."

He felt the younger man's hand slowly crawl around his body and settle just above his waist. Lawrence continued to gently stroke the other man's hair, running his fingers through it again and again, as though the gestures were relaxing him as much as they were relaxing Adam.

"It... It was for spite for me too, Lawrence," the young criminal said quietly, pain in his voice. "But I didn't want those kids to grow up like I did. I figured... two birds with one rock, right?"

Lawrence smiled slightly and planted a light kiss on Adam's forehead.

"The expression is "two birds with one _stone_," you moron," he said, half-laughing. "There's no way you could pick up a rock, anyway. You're flimsy."

"But still sexy," Adam retorted, slowly running his fingers along the rough fabric of his lover's uniform. Before long, though, the delinquent's attitude seemed to change, and he suddenly lifted himself out of Lawrence's arms so that he could look him directly in the face.

"What made you decide to become a cop, Lawrence?" he asked tentatively, his eyes growing somewhat dark, as though he really didn't want to know. The older man sighed.

"I guess I just had something to prove. I didn't want to be at the bottom of the barrel anymore. I wanted to be respected."

"How'd you find the money to get into police academy?" Adam asked curiously, still fingering the top part of his companion's clothes.

"Well, the state paid for my education up until I left high school," Lawrence said, biting his lip to stop himself from moaning in pleasure from the feeling of Adam's touch. "I _stole_, sure, but I was never _really_ caught. I had a few close calls, but... Well, I was bright enough in school, and by the time I left, I got a scholarship to go into college. I also got a few part-time jobs. I really wanted to be "someone.""

Adam made a small circle around the side of the other man's nipple, causing a low sigh of contentment from the receiver. He chuckled.

"And you were never caught?" he inquired, somewhat in awe. "Well, that's where you outdo me, Larry. I was caught, wasn't I?"

There was no bitterness in the young man's tone when he mentioned this. In fact, Lawrence felt sure that Adam, just like him, was happy that the meeting in that alley had taken place. Before that, neither had really had any ideas about the prospect of "love."

"Actually, Adam, I _was_ caught. Once. Just like you. It wasn't official, but..."

Adam's body suddenly tensed up. He seemed surprised, almost concerned. Maybe he actually had some vague notion of what his lover was about to say.

"It was Grey, Adam," Lawrence said quietly, and clenched his jaw. He wouldn't let the tears fall, he wouldn't. "Grey, my boss. He got me in a closed up super market in the middle of the night. Pulled a gun on me, just like I did to you. I thought he was going to arrest me, but what he ended up doing was much worse."

There was a short silence, then Lawrence continued.

"He told me I was nothing. He said I was a worthless waste of space, a pimple on society's ass. I know it shouldn't have gotten to me, but it did. _And_ he let me go. He said there was no point in reporting me, since it would just waste tax payer's money, making a case out of it and all. But he did say that he would kill me himself if he ever caught me stealing again."

Adam chuckled bitterly, seemingly unsurprised with Lawrence's words. Lawrence couldn't help but wonder if something like that had happened to him at some point.

_Of course it has,_ the cold little voice said. _Just a month ago, there was someone who told him he was fucking useless, that he was just someone to play with until a certain person found someone better. Remember who he was, Lawrence? You were pretty close to him for about twenty years.  
_  
The voice as right. It was always right. And it always hurt.

"Asshole," Adam said.

His word of choice was something of a childish insult. But at the same time, Lawrence was almost surprised to hear something so dark, so grave, with so much suppressed anger come from such an amazing person.

"I can burgle his place if you want," Adam said, and now he was own, bitterly humorous self again. "Once I get out of here."

Lawrence laughed and kept raking his hand through Adam's hair.

Neither one of them pretended to notice the deadly serious continue on Adam's sentence that rested in the air:

If_ I get out of here.  
_  
Lawrence's smile faded when he realized this. And his hands slowly found a way up from Adam's lap to his cheeks, where they planted themselves on both sides of his face, and Lawrence kissed him, almost desperately, even though he wanted it to be calm and gentle, because he so badly wanted to convince him, reassure him. Almost as much as he wanted to reassure himself.

"Adam," he said in a steady voice. "I _will_ get you out of here. I _will_. Okay?"

Adam nodded with a small smile.

"I know," he said, allowomg his hands to creep into Lawrence's shirt, touch his bare waist. "I think you're the most worried one of the two of us. You're such a girl."

Lawrence smiled, as well, but more and more of his concentration was becoming focused on Adam's small, searching hands inside of his shirt, pressing him closer.

"Adam," he said in a way that was supposed to be correcting, but that quivered a little too much for that.

"Yes, Lawrence?" Adam purred teasingly, and moved even closer to him, his warm breath sort of pouring down Lawrence's neck, the tickling feeling his hands always coaxed from him turned into a big, roaring fire in his stomach, and the detective moaned weakly, grabbing those hands, because otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to contain himself, he'd have pressed Adam up against the opposite wall and drawn violent kisses from him, and then he'd have rolled him over to his stomach and done that thing that they'd done so many times before and that he'd never get sick of.

"Stop it," Lawrence mumbled, pulling Adam's hands out of his shirt. "Visiting hours are almost over, and you have no idea how much I've thought about you... And waited... Fuck, drop it, before I lose my mind..."

Adam chuckled and let Lawrence capture his hands between his own, mostly to get some control himself.

"I've captured your hands, Adam," Lawrence said, putting on a fake, stern voice. He was trying to get his mind away from what he and the kid had been about to do. "They're now my prisoners. If you want to free them, you shall have to pay the ransom."

Adam laughed heartily, pretending to be scared.

"Oh, no... Lawrence, please... Anything but my hands! If I don't have them, how am I supposed to jerk myself off in the cold, wintery nights?"

The older man rolled his eyes and looked down at the soft, small palms of his lover, cupped securely in his own. There was still a long, white scar, running from the bottom of his hand to the top of his thumb. Lawrence sighed, feeling the anxiety that he had been struggling to suppress well up even more inside his stomach as he glanced at the decrepit old clock on Adam's wall.

Almost a quarter to ten.

"What time do visiting hours end, Lawrence?" Adam asked tentatively, as though reading the other man's thoughts. Lawrence swallowed and gently ran his fingers along the lingering scar on the younger man's right hand.

"Ten. I tried to ask if I could stay longer, but... Well, they did say I could stay for longer if it was an emergency."

Adam shook his head, pulling his hands roughly from Lawrence's as he did so.

"Don't stay," he said, his voice somewhat closed and hard to understand. "There's no emergency. Besides, if you do stay, people will get suspicious. We can't have anyone knowing about us. Well, except Jack, obviously. If anyone else finds out, the court might think you're being biased. I may not know much about the legal system, but I do know that you're not meant to testify for someone you care about in situations like this."

Lawrence nodded slowly, looking down at his and Adam's laps as he did so. He had been going to tell his friend about Grey finding out about them, but there wasn't really any need to worry him, since it probably wouldn't have any consequences, anyway. He had told Adam what he thought Grey _would_ try, though. But something else had been bothering Lawrence, too. Well, not _bothering_ him, exactly. He'd be stupid if he let such a small thing upset him. But, still...

"Adam?" the detective began, feeling a slow patch of color spreading across his cheeks as he spoke. "Before me... Well... H-Had you ever..."

He felt, rather than saw, the body beside him tense up, and he knew that the young criminal's face must be going just as red as his was.

"N-Not that it would bother me," Lawrence put in quickly, still refusing to look up and meet the other man's gaze. "I mean, I had... I had done _that_ to Allison. Not too many times, but... A-And, before her, I had a girlfriend in college..."

There was a long, slowly-drawn out sigh, and Lawrence, almost fearfully, looked up. He had been right about Adam's face. The kid's cheeks were so red, he looked like he had been standing in front of a steaming kettle for the last half an hour.

"One of the moms of the kids I brought stuff to tried to start something with me," Adam said quietly, his face reddening even more. "But we never got around to... _that_. I broke it off. There were also a couple of drunk pieces of trailer trash who tried to come onto me. There were usually more than one of them. Two even asked me once if I wanted to have a threesome with them. Exactly _how_ you have a threesome with two girls and one guy is way beyond me, but never mind. I turned them down, too."

Lawrence hesitated for a moment, before he forced himself to ask;

"Anyone who you actually _did_ do it with?"

He thought he already knew the answer. Adam slowly looked up.

"I've always liked guys, Lawrence," Adam said, his expression grave. "I didn't want to admit it at first, but I always have. Ever since I was old enough to think about that sort of thing, all I ever thought about was sex with guys. But because I was in denial, I never had the courage to go out and... Well, you know. And, obviously, I was never able to force myself into doing it with a girl, even though I tried to convince myself that I was straight. But when I met you..."

Adam grinned slightly, cheeks still flushing.

"I figured; _He's_ fucking _me_. I'm not fucking him. I tried to pretend that I wasn't enjoying it, but you kind of forced me to come clean there."

Lawrence smiled weakly.

"Sure, blame it all on me. I know you liked it."

Adam chuckled, even though his face looked like it had done when Lawrence beat him up in that storage room.

"Did I ever say I didn't?"

Pause.

"I'd never done it with anyone before," Adam continued carefully, and his gaze still wandered around the room. "So I was just thinking: "Fuck, I know it feels good, but is it _supposed_ to feel like this when you have sex? Then it's not just me who's sick, then the whole damn American population are masochists.""

Lawrence laughed, but Adam stayed serious. Lawrence got the feeling the was talking to himself as much as he was talking to his lover, that his careful, light questions were things he'd wondered ever since Lawrence had pushed his head down and forced him into the police car.

"How did you feel?" Adam asked, his deep blush getting even worse. He bowed his head, like he was honestly sorry that he'd wondered stuff like this. "I mean... right then? The first time? Were you ashamed for doing... that?"

Lawrence laughed again.

"Of course I was! I was a _married_, rich New York-cop, and I was fucking a criminal in an alley... And I _liked_ it. I even liked to make you crawl for me and stuff like that... It was like a sure sign that I'd put my old life behind me. No one would ever be able to call me a worthless piece of shit again, because now, I had the power to do it myself. You know?"

Adam nodded slowly, and a small smile was able to creep up on his tired face.

"I really hated you then," he said quietly.

Lawrence leaned forward and stroked his cheek quickly.

"I did too, Adam."

Adam looked briefly at him, but his grey gaze quickly bounced up to the clock above the door, and then, that beautiful glass in his eyes were broken, just like so many times before, since life never had been kind to him, but it hurt Lawrence just as badly every time, like a big, hot, sharp knife had been buried in his neck.

All he wanted was for Adam to be happy, to be able to protect him. Protect him against anything that could hurt him.

"It's five to ten now, Lawrence," Adam said in a grave voice.

Then, that knife was buried even deeper in Lawrence's neck.  
_  
I can't say goodbye to him again._

But he still nodded sharply. Then he put both arms around Adam's shoulders and pulled him into his chest, locked him in an embrace mostly because he didn't want the delinquent to see him cry, see the tears that welled up in his eyes like tiny, painful drops of acid that then dribbled down his face.

Adam fought out of Lawrence's arms way too quickly, but cupped his chin in one hand and forced his head up, forced Lawrence to look into his own eyes, eyes that were glazed with tears, sure, but that were still more mature, more determined than Lawrence had ever seen them.

"Don't cry, Lawrence," Adam said, and the detective was surprised to hear that his voice matched his eyes perfectly. No quivering, no hesitation, none at all. "You will get me out of here. And then we'll go away, to some place where no one knows us, and then we can live there for the rest of our lives."

Lawrence nodded again.

Adam was such an idiot. None of that could happen, Lawrence knew that. When - _if_ - he got Adam out of here, they would begin a relationship that had to be quiet and unnoticed. And they'd have it in New York. And their love would be so wrong and bizarre in the eyes of others, that it would have to be kept under the surface, simply because that was all they could do.

But today, not even Lawrence, who'd relied on the rational stuff for all his life, had the energy to think about that. Today, he just wanted to sit here for the rest of his life and let Adam spin him into a web of vain attempts and fantasies, let him forget about the reality that was out there, with glowing eyes and dangerously glistening teeth, and just live here, in their web, their lies, their life.

Because their life wasn't perfect, it was full of cracks and black spots, but Lawrence wouldn't have liked it in any other way. This was the way he loved it.

**Aw... Lots of talking, I know. Don't worry: I promise they'll be more smut soon! In the mean-time... DUM-DUM-DUM! Plot-twist! Lawrence was a criminal before he became a cop, and Grey was to Lawrence what Lawrence is to Adam, except without the sex (thank God XD). So, what's going to happen next, do you think? Well, I'm a cliffhanger-abusing bitch, so you'll have to wait to find out. ^_^**


End file.
